


To Be A Wish

by DrarryIsMyShit07



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Draco Having Angsty Feelings, Draco Having Muggle Interests, Draco and Luna Friendship, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry is a bitch, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Being A Goddess, Hogwarts Eighth Year, I APOLOGIZE, M/M, Mean Harry Potter, More Tags throughout story, apparently I crave death around that time, bc so does draco, draco and hermione friendship, friendship is inevitable when harry potter won't leave you tf alone, harry is in love with treacle tart, sad baby draco, wrote Ch 6 at 2am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrarryIsMyShit07/pseuds/DrarryIsMyShit07
Summary: Draco Malfoy would do anything to not be Draco Malfoy, he just wished everyone else knew that.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 88
Kudos: 212





	1. Chapter One

All his life, the worst pains he’d experienced were that of which his father brought upon him. The Cruciatus Curse, getting the dark mark. All results of being the son of such an evil man, being the son of Lucius Malfoy.

But this, this pain hurt. He’d heard muggle-borns and half-bloods talk of muggle world pain, but never did he think that he would ever have to experience it. As he held his left forearm still, subjecting it to the repetitive stabs, he let out silent sobs of pain. 

_ And they do this for fun? _

“Hey mate, you sure you’re okay?” Draco Malfoy glanced down at the muggle man who drew on his arm with needles of color and pain. With a strained voice, he reassured both the man and himself, although neither believed it.

“Well you’re doing great, you haven’t moved your arm at all. Thanks for that, making my job a whole lot easier.” Draco nodded, afraid of speaking and allowing this stranger to hear the pain that flowed through him. “We can take a break? Get some snacks.”

Draco shook his head at that, he wouldn’t be able to handle the terrifying anticipation that would surely ensure if they stopped now. He’d leave early and never get his arm finished and he  _ needed _ to finish it. He’d be damned if he went back to school without his arm perfectly decorated in colorful flowers that would conceal the unrelenting death mark that seemed to be engraved in his pale skin.

He’d be damned.

“Well it’s your money, sir,” said the tattoo artist before turning the machine on once again and allowing the needles to pierce through his already terribly tender skin. What a long day this would be.

~

Draco sat in the window sill of his room looking out into the cloudy terrain that the Malfoy Manor watched over. It was going to rain today, just as it had yesterday and the day before. Just as it would tomorrow and the day after.

Because at the Manor, every day following the war, days had been dreary and lonesome. Friends had been scarce and enemies had been far from welcoming. Draco cradled his left arm as he fought with himself on whether or not to send someone an owl. It wasn’t like he had anyone, in particular, to send post to, no, not at all. He just longed for the feeling of waiting to get mail. Longed to look out of the window and wonder when his owl would bring back a reply.

But shortly after, he came to his senses and left his seat at the window. He’d send out no post, and he’d receive not a single letter back until a few weeks before September first when the newest Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sent him his school supply list. 

Upon getting said list, he’d sneak out of his house and call for the Knight Bus which would take him to Diagon Ally. He’d get his things and he’d be on his way back to school to finish his stupid school education without the presence of Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One.

Without those blasted Weasley’s or bucktooth Granger or Neville Longbottom. And he would answer no mail from his father nor his mother. And he’d fail to come back to the Manor for any holiday at all. And once he graduated from school, he’d do his best to survive out of his own pocket because he’d surely be disowned once summer rolled around once more.

Only another few weeks.

~

There was a crisp knock on his door that could have only belonged to Narcissa Malfoy. Draco whipped his head around before magicking up a robe and putting it on, hiding the bouquet of pretty, pastel flowers that laced his entire forearm. 

“Coming,” he announced and walked over to the large wooden door that he seldom left out of anymore. His mother, tall and scrawny eyed him angrily. 

“I’d like to come in, Draco.” 

“Draco? What’s happened to ‘Love,’ or ‘Darling,” he asked stepping to the side to allow his mother in his room. His voice matched hers in sharpness and anger. There was quite a bit to be upset about in the Malfoy Manor. Quite a bit.

“You’re father and I are under the impression that you’d like to leave home,  _ darling. _ ” Narcissa sneered sitting down on Draco’s corner chair. There was once a time when the voices that trailed through the house were happy and cheerful. Other times they were calm and collected and full of plans. 

Now they were filled with hatred for each other and everyone else. Draco would have liked to go another seventeen years without hearing such hostility in his mother’s voice when she spoke his own name. He’d have liked to grow old knowing his mother cared for him, about him, no matter what happened. 

Unfortunately, children of war don’t get such fortune and favor, especially children in families like his. Families who fought for the wrong side Families who supported the wrong house. Families like Draco’s who never were happy to begin with because their only source of happiness came from serving a Dark Lord so cowardly that he’d hide from an infant. 

So many other children had suffered the life he had because of the belief of their parents. But not all children had gone as far as Draco Malfoy. So maybe it wasn’t his parents to blame, but him. For going the distance he had gone. 

_ You’ll do anything for family. _

“So wonderful of you to notice, Mother. I am in fact planning on that very thing,” He said, not even caring to look at her anymore. He laid down on his bed, staring into the distance. By now she was just someone he’d known. Someone he’d been close to. After all, she looked at him the very same way. He laid down on his bed, staring into the distance.

“We won’t allow it.”

“Dear, Mother. You don’t control me anymore, I’m seventeen. I’m a  _ man. _ Magic outside of Hogwarts? Yes. Death Eater at sixteen? Yeah. Don’t think you and  _ Father _ can boss me around anymore. I’m not some ragdoll or chess piece you can throw around and move at will. I’m a human. I have-”

“That’ll be enough, Draco. We  _ won’t  _ allow it.” Mrs. Malfoy stood and began to approach her son’s bed, only to stop and sit back down.  _ I guess I’m not worth the trouble anymore. _

“I don’t care much anymore what you and Father will and will not allow. Whether you like it or not, you don’t control me anymore. I’m no longer a child.” Draco’s words were cold and he truly did hope they froze their way into his Mum’s heart. He hoped they stuck with her for a while. 

“You are still a boy! You-”

“I’m not going to subject myself to you and Father’s master plan. It’s quite obvious they don’t turn out. My whole life I was messed over and for what? I’m an adult now and whatever choices I make, are mine now. I won’t get a free pass because I was a kid anymore. I won’t allow you to ruin my life any more than you already have.” Draco was standing up, his entire body exerting all of the rage he’d been holding in for days, weeks, months. Maybe even years.

And both Malfoy’s could feel all of that anger flowing right off of Draco. They could hear the seething in his voice and the anger in his eyes. And naturally, both thought back to a time when this feeling of hatred for one another hadn’t crossed their minds.

While Narcissa sat down staring up at her son, she no longer saw the boy she’d raised and protected and loved. She saw the man she’d married, the man she’d served for years, almost always without consent. The man who forced her  _ baby _ to join the Death Eaters. The man who showed his true colors from the very beginning, colors she’d chosen to ignore.

The man who’d changed her child.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned away from her, resisting the urge to yet again raise his voice to counter her loud silence.

There was a time, at the end of the war, where the family had hugged and taken in the fact that they were  _ alive. _ Which of course only led to the realization that  _ they _ were alive.

Lucius Malfoy was alive, much to the dismay of Narcissa and Draco and the rest of the wizarding world. Draco was alive, much to the dismay of himself.

And now there was no room in the world of the Malfoy’s to relish the living and the dead. There was only room for self-hatred and hostility. For the rest of the world, most would assume that was already the case. For the Malfoy’s, however? It was absolute torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be updated every other Friday!


	2. Chapter Two

“You can’t be here right now, you know that.” Pansy’s voice was harsh and whispered and strained. Like she’d been crying and yelling and screaming for days. She probably did too, and Draco knew it was his fault.

“Pansy, I have nowhere to go.” He’d’ve liked to say he wasn’t upset about being pushed away from one of his best friends, but it’d be a bald-faced lie. It felt like a stab in the chest, he felt like years of friendship and trust was washing away every moment he stood on Pansy Parkinson’s doorstep, looking desperate and hopeless.

“Dray-” Pansy’s eyes were swollen and her hair looked as if she’d gone days without brushing it. She probably had. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Draco figured she was, but it didn’t stop him from being angry, it didn’t stop him from wishing he was anyone but Draco Malfoy. “You just, you can’t be  _ here. _ You can’t be with  _ me, _ we can’t be together anymore. I’m so sorry.”

Draco needed to go, he couldn’t embarrass her even more, he couldn’t ruin her life anymore. It wasn’t fair to her, it wasn’t fair to anyone. He nodded his head, looking down, and turning on one heel. “Draco Malfoy! That’s not fair! You can’t put this on me!”

“I’m not, Pans, I assure you.” He stepped down but stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“You are, even if it's subconsciously.” Her shoulders were wrapped up in a blanket, one he recognized as something Blaise had given her sometime during the winter the year before. Before everything. “It’s not just you, okay? I- I have to do this with Blaise too. Do you know how much  _ that _ kills me?”

“Blaise’s family had nothing to do with Death Eaters and you know it.” Was Pansy really removing herself from the Slytherin House entirely? 

“But his mum is being suspected of murder for the deaths of his step-fathers. And he, being a close relative, is also a suspect.”

“We know he didn’t do anything! You  _ know _ that!” Draco was mad now and he didn’t even know why he’d look to Pansy for help. It was one thing for other houses to distance themselves from the Slytherins, but an actual house member? It was betrayal at its finest and he  _ hated _ it.

“I know, I know.” She tried to calm him, but by now she knew there was no hope. “But I  _ have _ to protect my family. My sister, my Mum. We can’t associate ourselves with anyone right now, we just can’t D.”

“Your sister? You hardly care about her at all!”

“She is a Hufflepuff! The least I can do is try not to ruin her life too. The Sorting Hat gave her a chance and living normally, I have to fulfill that. I need to protect her.” Her eyes pleaded with Draco to just  _ understand _ but there was no time for that. There was no reason anymore, Pansy had chosen her new life. A life of hiding and crying and hoping for a way out.

“I’m gonna go. Before I ruin your  _ sister’s _ life anymore.” 

“Draco wait!” Pansy had tears in her eyes. Draco wanted nothing more than to reach out and dry them. To walk in the home and fix her some tea and read her a book to sleep. To eat chocolate frogs and pastries and  _ forget _ . “You are so much stronger than me, okay?” She took her hands in his and held tightly. 

“No, I’m n-”

“You are gonna go back to that bloody hellhole of a school and finish your education and make something of yourself. I’m just going to sit here, in this old house, and hoping Poppy does better than I did. Hoping Blaise is safe and still wealthy.  _ Hoping _ .” She smiled a teary smile and kissed his cheek. “Dye your hair, stick out.”

“Are you kidding?” 

“People want to focus on anything but the war, dye your hair, and be someone else. Don’t be Draco Malfoy. Be  _ Draco _ , okay? Do that for me?” Draco nodded, leaning into Pansy’s hug.

“You aren’t Lucius.”

~

“Thanks,” Draco mumbled as he sat down in the leather chair. The lady nodded and began busying herself with her equipment. Draco assumed this wouldn’t be nearly as painful as covering up his dark mark was, but he really had no idea. Muggle technologies were nothing to be trifled with, that was for sure.

He laid his arms on the sides of the seat, clenching and unclenching his wrists and trying his very hardest to not make a scene. He didn’t deserve the attention he’d get, he didn’t deserve the comfort he’d get. He didn’t deserve any sort of sympathy, and he probably wouldn’t for the rest of his life.

“And what color were you thinking again, love?” The woman was short and plump middle-aged, and a very calming voice, making him suspect she was a witch from the way his nerves settled so quickly. He shrugged at her question and continued clenching his hands, although somewhat calmer now.

“Well, I believe you’d be just perfect for a light pastel color, what’re you thinking?” Draco eyed her, shrugging his shoulders. He was hesitant to talk, afraid his voice would come off shaky and strained. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll show you some choices.”

She pulled out a binder filled to the brim with pictures of young men and women with their hair in all sorts of fashions and colors. Draco couldn’t help but allow his eyes to widen in surprise at that, they truly were amazing.

After flipping through a few pages, she apparently seemed to reach the pastels. “Maybe a lavender or a teal would suit you nicely, m’boy.” Draco allowed himself to run his slender fingers along the pages, tracing the boys with the pretty hair. This woman couldn’t possibly make him look like them, could she?

  
  


“Are you still in school? Do you have uniforms with a specific theme? We could base them off of that,” she offered, her voice sending waves of relaxation into his tense bones. 

“Yes, I suppose there is but, but we usually wear black robes over our house colors,” he said, voice floating, as he gawked at the pictures.

“I see, and what color are your house robes, darling?”

“Emerald green,” he stated simply, finally breaking his gaze away from the book and back up to the woman.

“Oh, it'll be simply beautiful then, dear. Emerald and Teal go together like fish and chips.” Draco smiled, he did rather enjoy fish and chips.

  
  



	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but it needed to happen

“You wouldn’t be from around ‘ere, would yeh?” Asked an old Irish man, who had seemingly taken Tom’s place at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Er, no sir. Jus’ passin’ through. Need a place to stay.” Draco said, attempting to alter his accent. Thankfully, the bar man didn’t have the best eyesight, and allowed him to pass on through, giving him a key.

The room was small, but tidy. Exceptionally homey as well, something he definitely wasn’t used to. He liked that the quilt on the bed felt used, rather than the pristine ones back at the manor. This one felt like it had been loved and cared about, it had a permanent odor of muggle fabric freshener from all of its washes. 

There was a rocking chair next to the fireplace, and to its side, a table with a lamp atop it. Perfect spot for reading or taking naps. The floor was covered in brown carpet, at first, Draco was positively horrified, but quickly grew fond of the feeling of softness between his toes.

He had a small bag with him, a cloak and a few shirts and trousers. Quite a few boxers had been thrown in, along with some socks that he was certain did not match. He merely threw the bag in the small closet, vowing to tend to it another day. 

An assortment of books filled the drawer of his nightstand, and he sleepily looked at them, wondering if he’d get around to reading them before he boarded the Hogwarts express the next month. 

Eventually, he set the books aside and tucked himself into the small twin bed in the corner of the room, magicking the lamp off as he did so. He wasn’t sure if he liked the quiet tightness of the room, but he certainly liked a great deal more than his previous life.

~

Draco had yet again, found himself downstairs in the bar, drinking quite a large mug of butterbeer and reading one of his favorite new Muggle books. He had found he quite enjoyed the muggle classics, liked the simplicity of the characters.

Something he’d grown to absolutely love over the past few weeks was the loud quietness of the inn. Sure, lots of witches and wizards waltzed into the Leaky Cauldron with their children, calling about greetings to one another left and right, but most often the greetings were short and simple, before the families disappeared into Diagon Alley.

Most often, there’d be older wizards in the bar, playing sporadic games of chance and drinking down large amounts of alcohol. Other times, a young man or woman would come in and shakily ask for a beer. Draco assumed they must have just come of age, and what a wonderful time for it too, right after such a brutal and spirit-sucking war.

He’d even once given a young, blonde-haired witch the advice of going to the Three Broomsticks to get “the good stuff.” He had to admit, the smile on her face had been heart-warming. It had definitely been some time since he’d made anyone smile.

More adorably, a small child would occasionally come running through the doors, in search of a friend or a sibling. They were usually followed closely by a frantic adult or older relative that didn’t want them running out into the streets of the muggle world.

Today though, was especially busy. Hogwarts would be back in session in two days' time, so naturally, children, parents, grandparents alike ran through Leaky Cauldron in hopes of beating the traffic. Of course, this was to no avail.

He found it quite easy to ignore the bustling chatter of the room and focus on his book, it baffled him more and more each day to find exactly how funny the books could be. After flipping through said book for an exceedingly long amount of time, his eyes grew heavy and his jug empty. He called the Irish for a refill and looked around the room, attempting to wake his eyes up.

He allowed himself to direct his attention to the two men seated next to him on the bar, both hovering over a newspaper. One had a thick beard that went to his mid chest, the other had nearly no facial hair at all, but the hair on his head flowed down the bottom of his back. Draco was sure his father longed for hair such as that mans. 

As they gawked over the paper, Hhe relished in the fact that he hadn’t seen a single newspaper in nearly a month. He’d decided the negativity of it was something he’d like to avoid for the time being. Especially when the news was very likely to talk about someone you knew.

He sipped his butterbeer as they talked of the Ministry and of the recent loss of the local Quidditch team. He quickly deemed the recent news unimportant and began to look around again, in search of someone new to eavesdrop on.

He’d chosen someone else, an older witch this time, and was about to focus in before he heard his name being said. Or rather, his father’s name being said. 

“Well, I’ll be. That Lucius Malfoy has officially gotten himself thrown in Azkaban.”

Draco’s face paled at that, even more than it already was.  _ Father’s been thrown into Azkaban? _ “And that boy hasn’t been seen, best for him too. Wouldn’t want to be caught with his daddy this time around.”

_ Why not? What has he done so absolutely horrendous this time? _

_ “ _ Aye. I’d say it’s best for the boy to stay away from his Daddy, if he doesn’t want to get dragged deeper into his mess.”

“I do hope that Malfoy boy isn’t going back there,” said the man with the long hair. “What with Minerva inviting all of the seventh years back to finish their education.” The bearded man nodded.

“My sister is sending her twins there, what a shame it would be to have a Malfoy at the school ruining things for them. After all, he’s gotten seven years  _ and _ a war. What more could be wanted?”

Draco clutched his hands into fists over and over again, working on his breathing. He wasn’t a danger. He’d been perfectly fine here, no one was bothered by his being a Malfoy heir. Then again, no one had a clue who he really was.

He stood abruptly, taking his book and fitting it into an inside pocket before apparating away. He was suddenly very much in the mood for ice cream.

He pulled his cloak over his head to cover his face, save a few strands of teal, before walking into the parlor. 

He had to admit, despite only being to the ice cream parlor a mere three times in the last month, he’d fallen in love with the smell of the parlor. The way he could smell the mints and the gummies at the same time, the way the strawberries and the chocolate pieces mixed together. The way they all mixed together, every single topping, and made a drool-worthy smell that any child or adult would be attracted to.

Unlike the Leaky Cauldron, here, all was quiet, save the small chatter of orders. Everyone was too busy licking away at their treat to talk. He sat down in a corner near a window that faced the outside. Too flustered by the talk of the two men, he decided to take a break from reading and began to examine the crowd outside. Everyone looked so, so cheerful.

Mothers were smiling, children were playing, fathers shook hands with one another, breaking out loud fits of laughter.  _ It wasn’t like this last year, or the year before. _

Last year, children were clutched by their shoulders, never once straying even a footstep behind the safety of their parents. Mothers and fathers alike didn’t stop to socialize or look at an item of interest. Fear was engraved in their eyes, in everyone’s eyes.

_ Was that my fault? Did I have something to do with it? _

He noticed over the past few weeks, he’d taken quite the interest in watching the passerby. Sometimes he longed to be in their places, other times he was grateful to just sit and observe.

“Sir, would you like anything?” Draco turned, assuming the young girl behind the ice cream was speaking to him. He nodded and smiled, standing to walk over.

“I’ll have, erm, let’s see.” Draco began, thinking about his order. “I’ll have a chocolate please. With the gummies atop. And strawberries dipped in chocolate to the side.”

“Yes sir, will that be all?”

“Mhm!” Draco said, smiling. He quite liked this girl in front of him. A young with, no older than 16. He himself had only turned 18 a few months ago, so maybe it wasn’t alright to look anymore. But she  _ was _ pretty.

“Great! Your total is one galleon and a sick-” Draco looked up from the ice cream toppings to see what had stopped her. He was shocked to see the color drain from her face; had something happened?

“Oh! Oh Merlin!” Draco flinched at that. What was wrong? “Oh my god, you’re- You’re Draco Malfoy? You’re Draco Malfoy!”

Now it was Draco’s turn for the pigment in his face to disappear. “I-I, No!” And now the girl was backing away, as if he had a wand pointed at her, ready to strike. “Well, yes. But I’m not- I won’t-”

“Back away from her!” Draco turned around, only to come face to face with a wand and an angry old wizard. “You have no right to be here!”

_ No right? He was a paying customer. He was a member of the Wizarding World. _

“Get out. Get  _ out _ !”

Draco, confused and upset, turned his head slightly, looking back at the ice cream counter behind him. He’d only wanted something to eat. He only wanted  _ ice cream _ .

His nose began to burn and he sniffed, not wanting to cry in front of the few people present. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just wanted something to eat. I just-”

“Be quiet boy. Be quiet and  _ get out. _ You aren’t wanted here.” A woman said. He hadn’t seen her before, but she was wearing an outfit like the girl who should’ve made his ice cream. His eyes began to water but he urged the tears away. He was a  _ man _ now. He didn;t need to cry over someone’s choice. 

“No one is going to bow down to you and worship the ground you walk in.”  _ They didn’t before, did they?  _

“Your days of luxury are over.” Draco’s eyes went back and forth between the people who were yelling at him. He could feel his cheeks begin to redden in embarrassment and his eyes swell. He didn’t want to cry, he couldn’t cry.

He couldn’t be seen like this. 

“No, you don’t understand I-” And suddenly the man, who’d still been pointing his wand at him, mumbled a spell and flicked his wrist, Draco’s entire left arm erupted in pain and he gawked at the man in fear.

His dark mark was sizzling excruciatingly and he cringed with every jolt of pain. 

“Wha-what did you do?”

“Get out boy.”

“What did you do?” He cried, and tears were running down his already red face. The pain mixed with the tears caused his vision to be blurry, and he could only see the outlines of the small angry mob that surrounded him.

He fell to his knees and began to cry in earnest, as the pain in his arm never let out. “Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!” He yelled in between sobs. He barely had time to react when he heard mumbling again. 

With a great amount of effort and a loud cracking sound, Draco Malfoy apparated out of the ice cream shop and was on his bed at the inn.

Finally, his arm stopped hurting, and settled to a slow, irritating throb. He whimpered and tucked himself into the bed, cradling his arm. “I’ve gotta get out of here. I’ve got to.” He whispered, tears dropping rapidly onto his pillow.

Suddenly, his eyes settled on an envelope of the nightstand. He grabbed it hesitantly, seeing it was addressed from none other than Minerva McGonagall. 

_ Dear Mr. Malfoy. _

_ This is your formal invitation to return to school and finish your education.  _

_ I sincerely hope you abide by my suggestions.  _

_ You’re more than welcome to tell me about your summer when we meet again. _

_ -Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress) _

“Merlin, thank you.”


	4. Chapter Four

Draco Malfoy found himself growing steadily antsy as he waited for the headmistress to allow him into her office. He'd brought his book with him, on a whim, an idea that he might be able to enjoy their simplicity. But he soon realized he couldn't do anything like that in the castle walls. For one thing, it would be seen as extremely hypocritical, he assumed. For someone such as himself, to be enjoying a Muggles work. 

As he continued distracting himself, much to no avail; he began to think the professor was doing this on purpose, began to wonder if she knew of his struggle outside of her door. It made sense that she wouldn't help him, grant him any sort of lenience or pity. He was sure that in her eyes, he was the very same monster he saw every day upon looking into the mirror.

"Mr. Malfoy. Come in." Draco looked up suddenly, locking eyes with a stern-looking Professor McGonagall. He stood, internally wining at the fact that he was now much,  _ much _ taller than the witch. He recalled the days when the woman towered over him instead, relishing in those moments. Those were the days when he had been safe.

Safe from Lord Voldemort and his evil plans. Safe from his Father and the unbearable weight that had eventually settled onto his shoulders. He only had to deal with making it to the next class and bullying-

Bullying  _ Potter. _

"Is something the matter, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No," he whispered, pushing past her arm and into the Headmaster's Office. Once there had been a great man who sat in the chair McGonagall was, was it his fault that man was dead?

Was it his fault?

He couldn't help but think about how much would've changed if Dumbledore had stayed alive instead of being killed the way he was. Would the war have been different? Fewer deaths? More families would be happy. Not as many children would have died had Dumbledore been there to save them, not so many mothers would have had to bury their kids before they had the chance to grow into an adult.

_ Was that his fault? _

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Malfoy." Draco sat down, eyes down on his lap. 

The professor also had a seat, and Draco could feel her eyes watching him. He wished he knew her reasoning. Could she be blaming him for the deaths of her students? Very likely, Draco felt as if he should be blamed for the deaths of everyone.

"You've been having a difficult time recently, Mr. Malfoy. Wouldn't you say?" Draco sighed and nodded. He wouldn't be surprised if she, along with everyone else in the entire Wizarding World, had heard about his "little" event that had happened at the ice cream parlor.

"Hogwarts is a safe place. I'm sure you remember that?" Draco met her eyes once again. Had it been a safe place when he was there? Truly safe?

Lord Voldemort had possessed one of his teachers in first year, and in second, students were petrified for months. Third-year dementors and werewolves roamed the school. Fourth the Triwizard Tournament had sparked several hazardous occasions. And the precarious events only doubled from there.

Had school ever been truly safe? When a Death Eater taught them defensive spells and a coward had allowed monsters of all kind reach his students.

"Perhaps, Professor. But I can't truthfully say it was when I attended." 

"I believe that would be quite the fair statement, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall gave a tight-lipped smile leaving Draco to wonder if his answer had been somewhat humorous to her. "However, the goal was for it to be a haven for young Wizards and Witches."

"I suppose in troubling times we don't always reach our goals?" He prompted, slowly working up the courage to stop staring at his lap and more at his host.

"I think it was more the result of individual goals clashing with group ones," she said. Draco understood her words completely, although he wasn't sure they were thinking of the same groups and individuals.

"You don't mean-"

"Albus had every intention to do the right thing for his students, but oftentimes, the wisest of people are the most narrow-minded." Draco felt himself cringe at the mention of Professor Dumbledore, seeing as it was his fault the man was dead. 

"He was concentrated on stopping Riddle, and in turn, failed to focus on the other people that didn't play a specific role in his plan. A small price to pay for the lives of many."

Draco was quite taken aback at the subtle disregard in Minerva's words. "But surely he couldn't have known about the ending, even if he anticipated the war, Professor! He- he died before things went bad."

"Albus truly did always have a way with things, intuition that is. But his goals were self-centered and intended for one person. Dumbledore is one of the few people that I can certainly say, knew what he was doing. His plans weren't thrown on a whim, my boy."

You mean Dumbledore knew about Potter?"

"Like I said, Mr. Malfoy. That man was one of the few people that I can say with certainty,  _ knew what he was doing. _ "

There was a silence as Draco thought over the new information. He hadn't grown very close to Professor McGonagall during his time at Hogwarts, he hadn't grown close to anyone but the people who now turned him away, but he was always certain of one thing.

She'd been someone the Dark Lord had desperately wanted to kill. "Professor? How did you get the place so, so back together again?"

Mr. Malfoy, have a biscuit."

~

He'd never quite experienced the Hogwarts castle being  _ quiet _ . It had always been loud and filled with energy. Whether the energy is negative or positive, the school was constantly full. Now, being quite a few days early, no one was there to fill it. And Draco certainly wouldn't be a contributor.

He had to admit, he'd been quite  _ upset _ to hear he wouldn't be moving back into his old common room. He hadn't been particularly excited to meet the newest Slytherins, or come face to face with old ones he might have seen in passing during his fourth or fifth year. He knew the connection they all once had with each other had come and gone, and if the youth were to retrieve it again, he definitely wouldn't be a part of the round-up.

Malfoy was a name of great distaste now, he was sure of it. And the house of Salazar Slytherin, a house few and many had once adored, was now an embarrassment. With the two being all he'd ever known, it was quite obvious now what Draco Malfoy was: a mere mortification of what once was.

But this new common room surely wouldn't be any sort of improvement, for the Headmistress had thought it a good idea to put all of the "Eighth Years" in one place. She claimed it was because only a few would be coming back. Of the hundreds who had "graduated" the months before, 88 students would be returning. A strange combination of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors would soon come piling into the currently almost empty "common room," but just one other Slytherin would return. 

A girl, that naturally, he'd seen in passing. But she was calm and collected and cool. She was quiet and had her own set of friends in other houses, such as a small group of Ravenclaw's along with a few shy Hufflepuff's. She was ambitious in her studies, and had a strong sense of humor, Draco remembered. For in their fourth year, she'd played quite a few pranks on the visiting students. But, unlike Draco and his set of close "friends," she seemed to make friends easily and brought smiles to most.

Draco had no trouble imagining the joy she'd have upon hearing she'd be sharing a house of their own with her old friends. 

The other students that were coming back were the least of his worries, or, actually, more at the top. He was already planning on staying far away from them, putting the utmost distance, emotionally and mentally, between himself and them. They had come for a proper education. They'd fought and saved and protected, they'd lost people and felt unimaginable pain; they'd come back to Hogwarts because it had been their "home" away from home, and surely their own homes were suffering.

Draco'd come back for a second chance, of redemption, of a future. Both of which he knew wouldn't be granted, but it was the thought that counted. The more he thought on the matter, the more he wished he'd stayed at the Manor. The thoughts of Azkaban being his own second home scared him daily but had slowly begun to comfort him. He deserved the fate of his cousin, Sirius Orion Black, who had done nothing wrong aside from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He deserved the fate of his father and his aunt, of his whole family.

He deserved to be laughed and mocked and criticized for his past beliefs. He deserved to feel the pain that so many others had wrongly been dealt with. 

With every passing minute, these thoughts overwhelmed him, and he clutched the nearest thing to him: the pillow on the bed he'd recently claimed. It was in the farthest corner from the door, and the curtains that were made to cover it were thick and heavy. He wanted so badly to do  _ something.  _ To hurt something, someone, primarily himself. After all, he surely deserved it. 

He could feel his chest burn and his throat beginning to swell, but he welcomed the feeling. The pain was beautiful, and it felt good. Felt great to  _ finally _ get something he deserved, he  _ deserved _ the pain.

"Young Malfoy. Or shall I say, old? You are a  _ man _ now." Draco whipped his head up, straining his burning eyes to see the source of the voice.

"Bloody Baron?" The ghost gave a sad smile, nodding his head solemnly. 

"It's been quite some time I believe, Draco."

"Yes sir! Yes, it has." Draco stood, forcing himself out of his headspace of desperation and depression. It could wait, he had many days until the rest of the group would come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its short! i'm sorry!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets to see everyone and feels hella guilty

During the days before September 1st, Draco Malfoy had occupied much of his time doing the most simplicit of things. He’d never truly had the satisfaction of doing _nothing_ before, and he was ecstatic to finally have the opportunity to search for something to do. 

His evenings were filled with long winded talks with the Bloody Baron, who seemed to know a great deal about the goings-on of young Salazar Slytherin, although Draco soon realized that the time lines didn’t quite add up. Nevertheless, listening to something other than his own thoughts seemed like a major step in the correct direction, and he didn’t mind the tall tales as they distracted him from his own painful lies.

In the mornings he’d found that going out onto the lawns of the castle and laying in the wet dew. At first, he’d been appalled at the way the grass soaked his cloak and hair, but then the sun had come up and he’d felt the heat on his face. His clothing dried quickly and left him feeling a new sense of cleanliness he hadn’t quite reached before. In fact, most of his day was spent outside. He’d bring along his new books and sit against a tree and read, basking in the sun. 

If he felt in the mood, he’d conjure up a small sandwich and some water to quench his thirst and hunger, then he’d settle down again. His books didn’t have fascinating tales of dragon-fighting and magic duels. Instead they were filled to the brim with day to day muggle activities, and it seemed Draco could never truly get enough of it. 

Those few days before September 1st were something of a dream, days full of haze and wandering, peacefulness aplenty. Draco and his thoughts, or lack thereof, against the world. In his recently humbled opinion, he could have spent a thousand more hours sitting on the knoll, reading his muggle books. He could have gone an extra thousand hours without the impending students that he knew in the back of his mind were on their way, surely he’d get not a single extra hour once they arrived. Not an extra hour of peace, of silence, of relaxation.

For it was the morning of September 1st. And the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were surely on their way.

~

Draco was putting off his visit to the headmistress’s office for as long as he possibly could before Professor McGonagall caught on to his stalling; but each minute he allowed himself to waste, the more he felt himself wanting to follow through with his tasks. Eventually, he stood up, pocketing his book, and walked back into the castle. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall greeted, a tense smile across her face. 

“Professor.” Draco nodded his own greeting, and sat down at her desk. She was already sitting there, glasses on her nose and her classic bun still atop her head. “You wanted me?”

“I thought it might be better to discuss your classes in private, rather than in front of the hundreds of other students.” He nodded, he’d prefer that too. “There are other things I’d like to speak about too naturally, but I’m sure this day is proving to be a major source of stress?”

“Erm,” he flustered, although he knew she was right. “I suppose, Professor.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know what you’d like for classes this year, would you?” 

Drao’s eyes widened in surprise, _of course she was talking about classes,_ he didn't know why he’d been expecting something much worse. “Would, erm. Would Potions be a possibility?” 

Minerva nodded and flicked her wand, a quill and parchment flew up next to the table. The quill began to scribble and she faced Draco once again. “We have a wonderful new _young_ professor who seems quite skilled I suppose. Of course, she’s not as good as your late godfather, as much as I hate to admit it.” Draco scratched his nose and looked down, waiting for the topic of conversation to change.

“Any other ideas?” The professor said quickly, noticing Draco’s body language. 

“Core classes I suppose? Transfiguration, possibly?” Minerva gave him a tense glance, but her gaze softened tremendously when he flinched back a bit. 

“I don’t suppose you know what you plan on doing for the future, Mr. Malfoy?” She asked.

“I don’t really have anything in mind… anymore, Professor.” Draco said, embarrassed. “There aren’t that many options for- for me. Are there?”

“I suppose that all depends on you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Oh. Erm, yes Professor.”

“I noticed you’ve been particularly interested in a certain book over the past few days though, may I take a look?” Draco nodded quickly and pulled the book out of its temporary home in his jacket pocket. “Quite a thick book, isn’t it Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes, Professor.”

~

Three hours before the train was set to arrive, Draco was back in the Eighth year dorm rooms, standing a few feet away from his four-poster bed, hands on his hips. He was trying his best to think of a spell that might conceal his entire existence a bit better, but the stress of the upcoming events were overtaking him. His breath was heavy and labored, as it had been since his meeting with the Headmistress had concluded. He knew he had every opportunity to go and ask a professor for spell help, but his mind told him no. 

He didn’t think they’d cast him aside, Professor McGonagall had promised no judgment from any staff members, promised that his slate was wiped clean. Of course, he knew that wasn’t entirely true, there was bound to be heaps of prejudice against him from a number of different sources, that he expected. He was just _embarrassed_ to ask for help, his position in life didn’t grant him that luxury. 

He didn’t think he was above assistance, nothing like that. He merely thought of himself as an outsider, someone that didn’t deserve help; and certainly the majority of the Wizarding World would agree with him.

His small corner of the room was just that, a small corner. And there were another nine beds in the room. The day before, he’d found a secret door that led to another room filled with beds. It was strange, having a second dorm room, but all too suddenly, the reality came crashing down. There were _eighty-eight_ eighth years returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and of those eighty-eight, quite a few were males. 

_So many_ people would be surrounding him, looking at him. So many. How would eighty-eight people fit in the same dorm room?

~

He’d fallen asleep.

He’d fallen asleep in a quiet, calming setting that was the unoccupied Hogwarts castle and awoken to the buzz and sudden fullness of September First Madness. 

The young witches and wizards that filled the castle every year were back, unsuspecting of poor, sleepy-eyed Draco Malfoy. His hair was atrocious and one side of his face was flat, while the other was puffy. 

_He looked horrendous_.

“I just won’t go,” He said to himself, mentally preparing for when nearly forty teenage boys would walk through the dorm room door and see him.

“Young Mr. Malfoy.” Draco groaned at the voice. 

“Adding a new title onto my evergrowing name Bloody Baron?” He asked, falling onto his bed and taking in a shuddery breath.

“It seems I might never stop,” The Baron replied. “Your presence is requested in ten minutes in the Great Hall. The Headmistress suggested five however, because students will clamored together.”

Draco widened his eyes at that, getting chills at the thought of all of those sweaty bodies touching one another. The Baron saw him and sighed, “That way you could blend in, you’d be much less noticeable if you’re with everyone, wouldn’t you think.” Draco sighed, immediately seeing the genius in the plan. 

“Five minutes.” And the Baron disappeared out of sight, leaving Draco to his loud, quite overbearing thoughts.

He flung a brush through his hair, and threw his cloak over his clothes. Wincing at the wrinkles in his shirt, he tightened the cloak, hiding his under clothing completely. He made sure his arm was covered completely, before pocketing his book and tucking his wand up his sleeve. 

He approached the door that opened to the stairs, but his breath hitched as he realized that he wouldn’t be leaving to go down to the fields, but to be amongst a large group of people _he’d_ hurt in unimaginable ways.

_Five minutes_.

“Five minutes,” he whispered. He gave a small bounce before flinging himself out of the door, knowing that if he didn’t do it then, he wouldn’t do it at all. He walked quickly and efficiently to the great hall until he hit the flood of human flesh. 

_Merlin, there's so many people._

But his hair was teal and unrecognizable as long as he didn’t brush it back in its usual style, which he’d made sure not to do. Instead it was a mop of unchoreographed hair atop his head. Draco found it quite uncomfortable, but the thought of being around so many people, being unrecognizable, even for a moment, enticed him way more than it should have.

He’d gotten quite the tan over the summer, something he could honestly say had never happened before. He spent so much time reading in the sun, that his face and arms weren’t the pale color he was known for. They weren’t overly dark, but the change was noticeable. And noticeable was good in situations like this.

He followed the crowd, stumbling into the Dining Hall. He was pushed every which way, and he had half a mind to defend himself, but he quickly saw that everyone else was sharing the experience. People were laughing and smiling, waving to friends and saying their “goodbyes” to family. There was no point in causing a scene, when his only focus was not being noticed.

As he looked around, he saw that there was an extra table now, probably for the eighth year students. He sighed as he realized he probably wasn't supposed to sit at the Slytherin table anymore, that his house was irrelevant this year. The Headmistress had explained that although the eighth years were a part of their own house, they wouldn’t be participating in house games like usual. That was for the main houses, they were only there to complete their education. Although they would be allowed to play quidditch for their original house, as well as celebrate with them.

Draco knew for a fact he wouldn’t dare step another foot into the Slytheirn common room. He wouldn’t want to embarrass them with his presence, nor subject himself to criticism from people he once saw as peers. 

The Slytherin table was less full for sure, but there were still smiling faces sitting around it. They seemed so calm. Unbothered by the pressure of being at school. It occurred to him that maybe they had no reason to be pressured. That it was a lie that all Slytherins were evil. That someone could happily live a Slytheirn life, have friends that they could talk to during the summers, have family that didn’t judge their every waking move. It occurred to him that not every Slytheirn witch or wizard had the unfortunate life of a Malfoy, of a pure-blood.

“Are you an eighth year?” Draco stumbled and his nose flared as he looked down on a short, chubby witch who couldn’t have been in more than fourth year.

“Erm, yes?” He answered, taking a step back and praying the girl wouldn’t recognize him.

“Oh wow, that’s so cool!” Draco gave a tight smile. “Anyway, your table is there!” She pointed to the middle table and Draco nodded quickly. 

“Thanks,” he said shortly and walked as quickly as he could away from her. He thought to sit at the end of the table, but thought it might draw too much attention. He certainly couldn’t sit in the middle. The end closest to the professors seemed too risky, so he decided on a spot in the middle of the center and the end, on the side closest to the exit.

Sitting down, he allowed himself to glance around. _Should I try talking to someone_. If he didn’t he’d bring attention to himself by being a “loner.” But if he did, the victim of his horrendous social skills. As he continued overthinking, his breath began to labor yet again. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome students!” Draco whipped his head around to face Professor McGonagall, ever so thankful for the mass distraction. “Welcome back to another year, this time, with much luck and constant hope, may this year be as uneventful as possible. I think we _all_ need a bit of a break from the chaos this wonderful usually brings.” Mutters of agreement began to erupt in the room, and Draco nodded along.

“This year is a new leaf for the Wizarding World, not just our students. This year, we can _honestly_ say that Hogwarts, as well as the Wizarding World, is a safe place once again. This is thanks to the lives of nearly _everyone_ in this room, as well as the ones who are, unfortunately, no longer with us.” Now the hall filled with regretful and sorrowful murmurs as they remembered the lives of the loved ones they’d lost. Draco squirmed in his seat, beginning to feel quite uncomfortable. _After all, you killed them_.

“Memorials are being built on the great lawn to honor the lives of our special heroes. Last of all, I’m quite happy to say, although I’m sure some of you will find it unfortunate, we have no new ghosts in our school. All of our war veterans have moved on, to the afterlife, where I _sincerely_ hope they are smiling and laughing, something they weren’t able to do in their last days.” He tried hard not to look, but he heard sniffles and quiet sobs all around, they only made him feel worse. _I’m so,_ so _sorry._

McGonagall paused for a second, and Draco saw her wipe her eyes. While he’d sat outside reading his muggle novels, he _had_ noticed a few people gathered around the Giant Squid’s lake, he hadn’t realized they were making memorials; he certainly hadn’t had the guts to go and ask the Headmistress, who’d been the only teacher he’d talked to in his days at the castle. He hadn’t thought to ask the Bloody Baron either, because he was a ghost, and prior to that morning, he hadn’t realized ghosts could leave the inside of the castle. 

“On a happier note, let us welcome our new first years into the school!” Draco only then took notice of the large group of tiny goblin-looking humans at the front of the hall, closest to the teachers. First Years. “Let us sort our newest additions to our school family!”

And thus started the Sorting. The infamous Sorting Hat sat on it’s slightly less infamous, but still well known stool, and began singing its song of comraderence and bonding. He’d never been able to admit it before, because he’d always been a stuck up brat that only cared about himself, but he did quite enjoy the simple songs of House Unity that came from the animate object. 

He gave a small smile as a couple young boys and girls joined the house of Slytherin, but tried not to bring attention to himself. His fellow eighth years clapped and cheered for their own houses, as Draco figured they should. He only wished he could show his support better than a small, timid smile.

“I won’t hold you any longer! Announcements will begin again after you eat. _Enjoy_.” Just like every year, food magically appeared on the table, leaving the students to dig in and get as much as they wanted. Draco didn’t hesitate, no one was watching him anyway. Everyone else had just gotten off of an all-day train ride, and wouldn’t bother paying attention to a random student who also seemed to be hungry.

He didn’t stuff himself, he left room for dessert of course, but after said dessert, his stomach could literally hold nothing else. He hadn’t eaten so well in weeks, months even. He’d refused to eat almost everything when he was still at home, only giving into temptation after hours upon hours of stomach growling and nearly unbearable pains.

He sat forward contently, leaning his arms to rest on the table before him, and waited around for the remainder of Hogwarts students to finish their own food, which happened rather quickly after he did. Satisfied sighs and half-hearted shouts filled the silence until McGonagall cleared her throat and gathered their attention once again. 

“We have one more _lovely_ group of students to welcome before settling into normal announcements.” Draco tensed at that, putting his head down slightly. “Our Eighth years, returning to complete their education. Along with yourselves, our Eighth years risked their lives for the fate of the Wizarding World. Welcome back students, you have been missed and the lives of your peers who cannot be with us today, are well remembered.” The table began to shake from the violence of the claps and cheers that had suddenly erupted. Draco chose to join in, so as not to cause attention to himself, but deep down he knew that wasn’t the only reason. 

He was remembering Vincent Crabbe, who’d he’d grown up with from even before their days at Hogwarts. He was remembering how he looked when he’d died. How absolutely _strange_ dead people looked, but how absolutely horrifying dead _friends_ looked. No one he’d ever truly _loved_ had died before that day, his Grandfather was always horrible to him, and anyone for that manner. His Aunt Bellatrix, who’d been killed the same day, wasn’t a very _loving_ family member, the only one she truly cared for was a soulless, loveless, shell of a man. Death was a terrifying thing when it came to people you knew, he’d only just found that out.

He was remembering his godfather, Severus Snape, and how everyone was surely thinking him a hero now, but Draco remembered the days he’d been in Snape’s care as a young boy. The days where he was taught to master certain defense skills, or wouldn’t be allowed to eat dinner. The days he’d tried to get the attention of Severus, only to be thrown aside and reprimanded. God, it had felt so _amazing_ to boss him around after he acquired his dark mark. But it truly did hurt when he’d heard of his death, and for that, he gave a moment of silence. 

He could only imagine the pain the others felt. The Weasley’s for example, who’d lost _so_ many. He couldn’t imagine losing his Mum, despite how upset he was at her; but the thought of losing someone as close as a _sibling_ scared him to no end. He thought of the sixth year Gryffindor, Dennis, who looked so sad. His own brother had died, and that was all he’d had. They’d been muggle-borns and Draco couldn’t imagine the pain of knowing your son was dead, but not knowing why. The situation had never affected the Muggles, but so many Muggles were dealing with the after effects. _It’s your fault_.

“Thank you. _All_ of you. For your sacrifices.”

A collection of “Here, here!” and whistles filled the room, and Draco felt his nose burn. _Hadn’t Loony Lovegood’s father passed?_ No, that wasn’t her name. _Luna. Luna Lovegood._

Draco allowed his eyes to wander, hoping that the movement would stop the tears from leaving their spots. He saw Poppy Parkinson and had half a mind to get her attention but stopped himself. Pansy would _hate_ him. Pansy was all he had left, he couldn’t do that.

“And now, welcome our new teachers! Professor Wilson, our Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Fernsby Dankworth, our Potions teacher, and Professor MacQuoid, our new, and _permanent_ , Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” A burst of applause was granted to the teachers, and each said a few words, although Draco paid no attention. Permanent? Had the curse been broken? Was Voldemort the reason?

“As always, the third floor is off limits to anyone who doesn’t wish to die a most painful death, and students are to be in their common rooms after curfew. I bid you all, goodnight.”

Draco rose to his feet with all of the others, wincing at the loudness of it all. _Now to get up to the common room without being recognized._

~

Draco was finding it unbelievably difficult to figure out what to do in the situation, aside from darting to the dorm rooms and diving into his bed, pulling the curtains and hoping no one noticed the bed in the corner. 

Unfortunately though, upon reaching the tower of the eighth year common room, he heard shouts of “Huffles call first room for the boys!” before seeing twelve or so wizards start to sprint for the door. The “door” of the Eighth year common room wasn’t really a door at all, it was a solid wall that, upon being touched by the right hand of an Eighth year, became a portal to the other side. IWith a bit of embarrassment, Draco could say that it was easily one of the coolest things about Hogwarts.

He, along with everyone else, piled into the common room and gave a breath of relief. Moans and groans filled the rooms, and people talked to one another. No one was paying attention to him, and he thought it a perfect time to go up to the dorms and ignore life. 

“Can I have your attention everyone!” _No. You may not._ Draco stared at the source of the voice angrily, but he couldn’t do a thing about it, it’d draw too much unwanted attention. “I’ve spoken to McGonagall,” This boy seemed familiar, but he didn’t remember who he was. Perhaps a Hufflepuff, but it was possible he was a Ravenclaw.

“The dorm rooms have been made to be about four rooms larger, and thus, every house will take its own. Us Puffs call the first one!” And the boy, _man_ , began to run to the stairs, followed closely by eight other Hufflepuff boys. Draco found it strangely coincidental that he’d chosen a room with eight Hufflepuff, but was extremely grateful that it wasn’t a rowdy group of Gryffindors.

He was standing awkwardly to the side, quite a length away from the staircases, but he began to make his way over. _The dorm rooms have been made to be about four rooms larger?_ Did that mean the room he’d found had more secret doors he hadn’t noticed? Did it mean that everyone would be going in and out of the first room, just to make it to the others? Had choosing the first room been a good choice? He hadn’t known there were more rooms when he’d first chosen of course, but after finding the second one, wouldn’t it have made sense to move farther back?

On the upside, his dorm room was closer to the exit, he’d be able to make a quick and easy getaway if need be. That in itself was quite reassuring. He was almost to the staircase when he locked eyes with Ava Winsbury, the only other Slytherin in the common room. His heart sank into his stomach when she smiled and gave him a small wave, she had _recognized_ him. 

He turned quickly and ran up the stairs, stopping only when he saw the boys dorm. _She only knew because you used to live with her_. Surely no one else would, surely it was only because she was used to his not-so-friendly face?

Surely no one else would? Surely.

He set his hand out to open the door, wincing at the uncomfortableness of his left arm grasping the door knob. He had stopped using his right arm almost completely over the summer, only using it to write the occasional handwritten letter. But of course, any one could magick his or her quill and parchment to do it for them. His arm wasn’t used to being used so much, but Draco wished it’d learn quicker. 

Suddenly, the door opened by itself, and Draco withdrew his arm quickly. Out came someone he’d never expected, and in all honesty, was quite terrified of. _Harry Potter_ emerged from the doorframe. Draco took a few steps back, eyes wide and arm ready to grasp his wand.

“Sorry mate, didn’t mean to run into you! Haven’t got my glasses on is all!” And just like that, Potter was walking down the stairs, away from Draco without even a sneer in his direction. He heard a faint yelp, and assumed the boy had tripped. 

When he was sure there was no one else would come out, he opened the door quickly and flew into the room. He caught his breath and sighed in relief. 

“Oi mate, are you alright?” Draco snapped his eyes open, his labored, yet quick breaths starting up again. 

“Erm, uh, yes! Yes. I’m sorry, I’d already,” he motioned for his stuff in the corner. 

“”Oh that’s yours, mate?” The Huffle asked, Draco nodded tightly and adjusted his posture. “That’s fine, enough for the lot of us, I suppose. You sure you're alright though?”

“Full- full stomach.” The boy, and all the others who’d been concerned, made a noise of understanding. 

“Well, we’ll put a silencing charm up, get your rest mate.”

Draco nodded and made his way over to the corner. _They didn’t know it was you!_

As sad as it was, Draco fell asleep to the lovely thought of being an unrecognizable being, free to roam the world without the past to haunt him. _Would it be enough? Would things be better?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai, thank you for reading!!
> 
> My tumblr is : @drarryismyshit07


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wanted this to be a happy chapter but then I started writing at 2am and all of a sudden, Draco just started craving death. I went with it and now we have this angsty ass chapter that hurts even me. So I'm very sorry. Please forgive me. *hands tissues*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hands more tissues* 
> 
> *hands blanket*
> 
> *whispers* Sorry!

Draco Malfoy had never been a fan of waking early, he’d been like that since he was a baby. His mother always said she enjoyed not having to wake up at first sign of daylight, because apparently even infant Draco was a cranky little night owl. But now, none of that was helpful in the slightest. 

Despite having gone to sleep at a seemingly decent hour, he still had to force himself to leave his cozy bed and make his way down to the Great Hall before it became clustered with children. They wouldn’t be as tired as they were the night before, no. In fact, they’d be ten times more observant. 

Draco had realized that rather quickly as he ran down a staircase that was about to move by itself. His new blue hair and slight tan would do nothing to hide his appearance. If he wanted to go unnoticed, he’d have to do a hell of a lot more than _that._

When he sat down at the Eighth year table, a plate of food appeared before him. He wished so desperately that he could be allowed a few simple moments of peace, so that maybe he could read his lovely Muggle book and enjoy some breakfast, but he knew it was a lost cause. Peaceful breaks were something he wouldn’t be getting. After all, did he even deserve them?

He stuffed his mouth full of food, not bothering to slow down. No one was there to watch him, no one was there to judge his every move. He could eat as fast as he wanted, he could eat as much as he wanted as well. He thought that, going by the previous logic, he could also eat as slowly as he needed to. However, everytime he tried, his anxiety had a wonderful way of making it sound as though hundreds of kids were seconds from bursting into the hall, and suddenly his moves sped up once again. 

When he’d _finally_ filled himself, he stood and walked over to the large doors that led back into the main part of the school. He had a thousand things to do, from cleaning himself up to making it on time to his first class, and he was certain he only had a short time to do it. 

He stood at the Eighth year common room entrance, heaved over in an attempt to catch his breath. He found himself wishing that apparation was allowed, it would be ever so much easier to maneuver around the castle without feeling like you were about to bust a lung open that way. It took him way too long to fully return to his normal self, but when he did, he heard a sharp “ _ahem_ ,” from behind. 

Professor McGonnagall, who he found seemed to be making a habit of catching him in awkward moments, stood there in front of him, exhibiting every ounce of her glory. “Oh, erm,” Draco started, giving his hands a bit of a shake, “Moring, Headmistress.” 

“Just Professor will do, Mr. Malfoy,” he winced at the name, but didn’t stop her. Would it be rude to correct her? He thought it might, but he didn’t want to come off as disrespectful on only the first day. It simply wouldn’t do. “I believe you will find this-” she handed him a foot-long sheet of parchment. “- quite helpful. I’ve put Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, _Muggle Studies_ , and Herbology as your classes. Will that be fitting for you?”

“Yes, _Professor_.” He looked over the parchment, taking notes of the new teachers. He didn’t see why he had a bit of hope with these new teachers, as everyone in the Wizarding World knew of him already. The only chance he had of escaping the terror that came with his name was to simply leave the community he’d grown up in. 

Unfortunately, when it came to making such rash and sudden decisions such as that, he was weak. He shuddered at the thought, mindlessly wondering what his father would say at the notion. _I am weak._ It hurt to think, hurt even more to know such a statement was so _true_. But what could he do about it? Everyone knows the weak can’t do a damn thing for themselves.

“I hope you find _some_ peace here, Mr. Malfoy.” There goes that blasted name again. It felt to Draco that McGonnagall was purposefully throwing it out, as a reminder of just how weak and helpless he truly was. “I know you may find that strange, but I don’t wish pain on any of my students.”

She still stood tall and still when she spoke, but her facial features had softened tremendously, allowing Draco to see that she meant it. “I do sincerely hope this year can be of some relief to you, _Draco_.”

_Draco._ “Oh! Yes, Professor.” 

“I think you’ll find Professor Wilson will be ecstatic at a pure-blood such as yourself to be as fascinated in the Muggle world as you.” Draco clutched the parchment and eyed here questioningly. He supposed though, it would be rather strange for any sort of pure-blood to be interested the way he was. 

“I’m sure. Might I add, show him some of your new _light_ reading projects,” she said with a wink and a smug smile. He blushed and nodded. “I believe he’ll find them of great interest, might even introduce you to some other Muggle loves.”

“Yes, Professor.” God, he was being terribly awkward, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. He gave his hands another shake before looking the Headmistress in her eyes, trying to show _some_ amount of respect.

“I do wish you a good day, Draco Malfoy.” Draco flushed, but it was better than “Mr. Malfoy,” he supposed.

“Yes, Professor.” He racked his brain with something else today, not wanting to keep this stiff response at the forefront of his mind. “You as well,” seemed to be the only thing he could think of. Though, he supposed it was _better._

~

Draco was significantly early to his first class, which coincidentally was Muggle Studies. He’d yet to go inside, because his nerves were through the roof and he wished that he could just disappear into the void, but he’d already given himself a pep-talk, and he thought it’d be enough to just walk in. 

He’d only placed his _hand_ on the door when it flew open, and in the frame stood a rather tall man with lanky limbs and a kind face. “Why, you must be young Mr. Malfoy,” he said with a soft voice that calmed Draco’s nerves nearly immediately, despite being called “Malfoy.”

He nodded his head, not quite ready to speak. He placed a hand over his left side, where his book was, as if that would give him some sort of relief. It didn’t of course, what relief could a _muggle_ book give anyone? But, it was still a nice feeling, _protecting_ something.

“Come in, come in. Make yourself at home,” The man made way for Draco to fit through the door. The inside of the classroom was rather _different_ in his opinion. A large table sat towards the back, but in the front, pillows and carpets littered the ground. He looked at Professor Wilson with a confused look. It was only the first day, so why was his room already such a mess?

“It’s designed after a muggle classroom,” Professor Wilson explained. Now _that_ peaked Draco’s interest. A Muggle classroom was something he’d never really gotten the privilege to see, being a Wizard kid. He was sure some of the half-bloods or muggle-borns had been able to have such experiences, but he’d never really _conversed_ with them enough to know.

“How do you know what a Muggle classroom looks like?” Draco asked after a bit of an awkward silence. The professor smiled.

“My mum’s a primary teacher, and I went to school before coming to Hogwarts,” he explained. Draco, utterly confused at such a notion, gave him yet another stupid look. 

“Are you…” Draco trailed, not wanting to be seen as rude. “Are you a muggle-born?” He still found that to be a bit rude, though he hadn’t said “mudblood.” Would his words be constructed into something different just because of his blood status? Would he have to be more careful than other pure-bloods because of his namesake? Was this even something to worry about, was he just over reacting?

“I am,” Professor Wilson walked over to his desk and began to reorganize his belongings. Draco understood, because no one really wanted to be the entertainer to a boy riddled with anxiety. “It was quite the surprise to me and my family, but it was always fun to show them the things I learned.”

From his desk, he took out a stack of short square shaped papers, and waved Draco over to him. “Going home every summer was always a treat, and bringing back my _muggle_ _toys_ usually got me tons of attention the first few weeks of school.” They were photographs, the square shaped papers. They were still photographs of the professor’s family it seemed, and in them, all sorts of foreign things Draco could only assume were muggle things. 

“They truly don’t move?” Draco asked, touching the photos in a slight trance. He’d known of course, that muggles didn’t have moving photos like the wizards did, but it’d always seemed extremely stupid. “They’re just… _still_?” 

“That they are.” Draco could hear the slight smile in his voice without having to look up. “I find it quite soothing actually. To just have them frozen in place so that I can remember them just as they are in this moment. You don’t have that in wizards’ photos.” Draco nodded, supposing he was right.

In the photos he had of his parents, he found whenever his father was upset with him in real life, he’d walk away in the photo and Draco wouldn’t be able to see the happy smile that was usually there. He thought that if he’d had a muggle photo of his father, maybe he’d remember what his father looked like when he was happy. It’d been so very long since any of the Malfoy’s got the luxury to smile.

“They’re quite lovely, Professor,” he said, recoiling his fingers from the man's personal belongings. He half expected Wilson to scold him for touching the pictures, after all, who’d want an arsehole of a boy touching their most prized possessions? But the man just smiled, _again_ . Draco wasn’t finding his consistent happiness _annoying_ , just strange, though he didn’t enjoy being constantly on guard in case the man’s mood changed to an angry one. It never hurt to be prepared for something like that.

“I’m happy you think so. I hope you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve gotten my hands on a large amount of cameras. My mum sent them to me you see,” Professor Wilson took what Draco could only assume was a camera out of one of his many desk drawers and handed it to him. “Not today, but I plan on showing the lot of you to use them.”

Draco stared at his hands, well, more so at the camera of course. It was a dark color, made of smooth silver steel, it was slick and it seemed to fit perfectly in his hands. “There was a boy, Professor.” Draco felt his nose burn, but he continued, never looking up from the device. “There was a boy and he had one of these. He loved it, I think. I _know._ ” 

He sniffed, and he felt his cheeks begin to burn too, he was _so_ close to crying. So close to making a fool of himself over a boy. A stupid _boy_ he’d probably bullied a number of times. “He would’ve loved this class, he really liked cameras.”

_He died with one in his arms_. He didn't say that, but Merlin, did he think it. It played over and over and over in his brain, and it wouldn’t stop. “I wonder if he’d like to visit?”

_That’s impossible, he’s dead. Just like so many of the others._ He didn’t say that either. “He was muggle-born, he knew so much about them already.” And the Professor understood, understood that the little boy that hadn’t even been able to apparate successfully yet was _dead_. 

_And he knows it’s because of you._ He squeezed the camera, telling the voices to _Shut. Up._ The professor took the camera out of his hands, probably not wanting his callous hands to break it. _Shut. Up._

“I’m sorry, sir. I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” and the wizard's hand was touching his shoulder again. He didn’t care really, knowing that it was Professor Wilson’s arm and not _someone_ else’s. He could practically feel the frigid heat that would overcome him when the Dark Lord felt it necessary to touch him. The man, if you could even call him that, had always squeezed where he placed his hand, making sure his sharp nails dug into Draco’s skin, as if Nagini herself was taking a large, and rather _long_ bit out of him.

He tensed, he felt that it was rather understandable, and stepped forward, _away_ from the hand that probably didn’t mean any harm. But when you’d grown up with murderers running in and out of your childhood home, it slowly began harder and harder to tell over time. “Minerva said you had a rather splendid surprise to show me?” Draco gave him a confused look. He most certainly did not. “A book, I believe was what she said.”

_Ah._ Draco reached inside his robes and pulled out the book, handing it over to him. He liked holding it, even when he wasn’t reading, because it had a feeling to it. A feeling that Draco didn’t know how to explain for the life of him. 

Though he tried not to, he felt a sense of jealousy wash over him when he saw that the professor stared at the book like it was an old friend. He _knew_ it was a muggle book, and he _knew_ that the wizard before him was a muggle-born, but it didn’t stop him from wishing he’d gotten to experience the book like Professor Wilson so clearly did. “Pride and Prejudice,” he began, his voice full of surprise. “I’ll say, I haven’t read this one in ages. It’s truly a classic.”

“A classic?” Draco asked. He wanted to reach out his arm and _pluck_ his book from Wilson’s arms, returning it to its rightful home in his robe pocket, where it’d be safe from harm. Unfortunately, it seemed rather rude, and he was _working_ on keeping a pleasant attitude. But he allowed his new teacher to hold his book a bit longer, wanting to know what on Earth a ‘classic’ meant.

“Books that the adults think everyone should read, usually it’s been around for ages. This one here,” he lifted his head, thinking for a bit. “This one was written in 1813, by a wonderful woman called Jane Austen. She-”

“Are there more?” he hadn’t _meant_ to interrupt, but Professor Wilson had said ‘books’ with an ‘s’ which meant there _had_ to be more. Right? 

“There are, yes.”

“More like this one,” he pointed to his book. “With stories like it?”

“Of course.” Draco gave a small smile. That was probably the best news he’d heard in his life. He was beginning to love these _classics_ and now, knowing that there were more like Pride and Prejudice only made him happier to read them. The muggles were good at one thing, that was for sure. Telling a good story. No gruesome deaths and horribly ugly goblins. Just stories of family and love and fun. That was what he wanted to read, probably what he needed as well. “Little Women, Tom Sawyer, Three Musketeers. Stories of adventure and becoming. Truly wonderful.

“I was planning on assigning some for the semester as well, though it seems you’ve already begun.” Draco, _finally_ , was given his book back, and he pocketed it away before giving his attention back to the professor. “When I was a boy, I despised them so much, but as I grew, they got more and more beautiful. I think you’ll enjoy the others.” Draco nodded, feeling quite a bit more happy than when he first walked in. 

He supposed that if Professor Wilson was the only kind person to him, despite knowing about all of the horrible things he’d done, he’d be alright in school.

~

Sitting through Muggle Studies wasn’t that difficult. The oldest person there, aside from him, was a seventh year Ravenclaw who thankfully didn’t recognize him. The other people were a mix of two bored second years who wanted to take an “interesting” class. A brother and sister, fourth and fifth year, who were being forced to take the class by their parents, who were probably wizard-born and probably afraid of confrontation. Everyone needed to be clear that they didn’t support the works of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. 

It seemed Draco was on the right track, having taken the class without persuasion from the outside pressure. But he was also probably an idiot, because he shouldn’t be going _back_ to school after everything he’d done. Then again, when had he ever thought straight enough to realize when he was making a bad choice? He was already at the school anyway, there was no chance of being able to leave unless something drastic happened. 

A rather strange sixth year girl that laughed quite a bit, too much for Draco’s liking, was taking the class, along with a group of four third year boys. 11 people total, which Draco found strange. He’d thought that with the current situation that the world was attempting to push behind them, tons more people would be taking it. When he’d asked the professor, he’d claimed that there were about the same amount in every class, and that he’d just split them rather thinly. Draco supposed he didn’t want to deal with twenty children per class, and he understood whole-heartedly. People in general gave him anxiety.

Professor Wilson had said he didn’t have a lesson planned, as usually Muggle teachers apparently didn’t give lessons the first day of school. Draco had found it rather weird when he’d heard the man say that they could ask him questions about strange Muggle objects they’d heard of, because surely that wouldn’t take much time at all. But Merlin’s beard, they’d used up the entire block and didn’t even make a dent in the questions the others threw at him.

Draco found himself fighting over whether to out himself early on and ask a question, or hope some other non-Death-Eater student asked something for him. Some of his questions were answered of course, but the professor’s answers usually only brought about _more_ questions. When class was dismissed, he found himself back up at Professor Wilson’s desk. He tried, he really did, to not let the thousands of questions roll off his tongue, but he failed miserably. He only found himself able to stop when the wizard held up a hand to silence him. 

“You are welcome to visit my office during lunch. I’d be happy to eat and chat with you.” Draco nodded, thanking the man. It seemed he killed two birds with one stone. Not only would he be able to have a seemingly peaceful lunch, he'd also be able to get rid of the thousands upon thousands of questions he had about the muggle world.

~

His first block would probably be the only stress free class he’d have, considering that the others were filled with people that not only knew him, but had grown up with him. Most of whom he bullied and hurt. None of the people he’d actually been nice to, or even cared about, were there. He was by himself, against the world, and he felt he deserved every moment of it. 

Every ounce of uncomfortableness was revenge dedicated to the lives he’d stolen. He hated to admit it, but he was eager for the accusations that were sure to come, telling him that it should’ve been him cold against the concrete rather than the people who _had_ lost their lives unjustly. 

He knew what he’d tell them. He’d say they were right, that there wasn’t a single lie in their words. He’d encourage them to do it themselves, _kill him_ , because he was far too weak and cowardly to do it by himself. He wished someone would compare him to his Aunt Bellatrix, his father even. He wished someone would say he was the pet of the Dark Lord. He wanted to see the looks on their faces when he agreed with every statement that spewed from their mouths.

He wondered if they’d hurt him, or if they’d treat him like the scum on the bottom of their shoes. He knew he deserved either treatment, possibly, no _definitely_ , both. He wondered if Harry Potter would join in and lead the slaughter or watch from the sidelines, quietly cheering them on.

He hoped he would, he hoped Neville Longbottom tagged along, and beat him down. He hoped the duo, the entirety of the golden and silver trio perhaps, would perform every Unforgivable Curse on him until he passed from the pain. He hoped they got revenge on him for their fallen family. He hoped Ron Weasley personally hurt him, he hoped Ron blamed him for his brother's death. He hoped the little boy, Dennis Creevy, blamed him for Colin’s death.

He hoped they all blamed him. 

Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic, perhaps wanting, longing for, craving death wasn’t the proper way to go about things. Perhaps owning up to his mistakes, and staying around long enough to see the change they brought was a better thing. But he was tired, he was hurt, and he truly just wanted to be gone.

Going away was something he’d longed for even when he was a child. When his father would hurt him and call him horrible things, he remembered his adolescent self wanting to be _gone_ , though he didn’t know what _gone_ would be. He didn’t realize it meant death, but now he did. Now he knew he wanted it.

Interrupting his thoughts was the ever familiar door to the Transfiguration room, where Professor McGonnagall, despite being the headmistress of Hogwarts, still taught. He stepped in the classroom, and he sighed when he realized he was still rather early. There was almost no one in the room. Just a small group of Hufflepuffs. He took a seat at the back of the classroom, careful to not make eye contact. He even roughed up his hair a little bit, knowing that his usual slicked back style was a very prominent identification for him.

The room steadily filled with children, adults now he should say. Only twenty were there, of the eighty-eight, and he found himself very grateful. A mix of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors talked loudly as they came, making Draco uncomfortable. He hadn’t been friends with any of them, but he did wish he had the luxury of laughing and smiling on the first day of school again, rather than cowering in fear. 

Not that it wasn't fair, because it definitely was, he didn’t deserve a happy first day of school; it just wasn’t _fair_. He knew that didn’t make sense, he knew he’d basically just contradicted himself, but it was the only way he could describe his feelings. It was fair, but it wasn’t.

When they’d all sat down and settled themselves, Professor McGonnagall cleared her throat and welcomed them. “It’s truly wonderful to see all of you again, smiling this time.” She was met with a murmur of agreement, smiles wide as if to please her more. “But I think we can _all_ agree that this year should be filled with games and fun and laughter, like you deserved.”

Another roar of agreement, more smiles flew around. Draco looked around for someone he recognized, though he sort of remembered all of them. After all, these were the people he’d grown up with. These were the people he’d lived with consecutively for months at a time. They were supposed to be family, why did he never let them be family? After his own _real_ family was downright horrible, why couldn’t he allow them to be close to him? Why couldn't he just be content in Hogwarts, the only place where he’d truly been at ease? He didn’t need to always be on the tips of his toes, in case his aunt was coming to teach him to kill people. He didn’t need to look out for when his father was in a fit, he didn’t need to know when to avoid his parents in order to not get hurt. 

He didn’t need to do anything like that, so why couldn’t he just _enjoy_ it. Enjoy the simplicity while it lasted? Because now he was an adult, and he was hated among the world he’d grown up in. 

Why did he have to be this way? Why did he have to be a Malfoy?

He sighed and focused his attention back onto the professor, not wanting to be caught off guard and get himself noticed too early on. No one was looking behind them, trying to play “Find The Malfoy,” and he wanted to keep it that way. 

“How about the lot of us split into groups and,” She reached behind her desk and pulled out a crate of random objects. “I’ve found that I need new cushions for my desks, so get to it.” She flicked her wand and a bunch of random things appeared on everyone’s desk. Draco wasn’t paying attention though, she’d said to split into groups. With other _people_. 

Everyone picked up their things and started to group themselves, smiling and laughing and talking as loudly as they pleased. He shakily put a hand around the felt hat and pin cushion that sat on his desk, but couldn’t find the strength to stand. He knew he should, because not standing would draw unwanted attention, but the thought of talking to anyone scared him to no end. He could feel his face pale, and he really didn’t want that happening, because a pale face would only get him more recognized. 

Why did he have to be a Malfoy?

“You’re an idiot.” Draco turned to the source of the voice, wiping a tear from his face. He didn’t really care anymore, he didn't care if people saw him crying. Maybe then, they’d see that he was truly human, and not some horrible manufactured entity that served Dark Lords. He had a feeling that no one saw him as a human, as a person with a soul and a heart, because he didn’t really see it himself. “An absolute idiot.” 

Draco couldn’t help but agree. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, a hoarse “hello,” making its way through his lips. Hermione Granger greeted him back, before sitting down next to him. “I didn’t really believe the media, I thought they were lying. Especially after all that’s happened.”

Draco didn’t know what she meant, but he looked at her, trying to pass as if he did. Her hair was nice, it was curly and beautiful and healthy. It wasn’t bushy, it wasn’t frizzy, it was perfect. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn't have to for Draco to see that her teeth were still normally sized. Her skin glowed, as did her energy. He could feel her happiness radiate off of her. 

As much as he wanted to, he didn’t hate her for being happy. He didn’t envy her either. For the first time, he realized she deserved it and he did not. She deserved to sit back and relax and _enjoy_ all that life had to give to her for all of her sacrifice. He deserved to feel the pain, all of the hurt he and his side had thrust upon the good.

He wondered what she thought the media was lying about, but he didn’t ask. If she chose to tell him, he’d know. And if she didn’t, he’d have one more question weighing on his shoulders. “Are you okay?” 

He took in a sharp breath and stared at her, confused. Completely and utterly confused. “What?” 

“We heard what happened. We heard about everything.” What was everything? Who was we? He wished he understood, but at the same time, he was glad he didn't. Whatever she knew, it was about him. Something had happened concerning him and he couldn’t be bothered with it. He wasn’t prepared mentally to take in any extra besides school related topics. 

And besides, Hermione had been around him too long, and where there was a Granger, there’d be a Potter and a Weasley, probably many Weasley’s, and he wasn’t ready to be confronted by any of them.

He looked around, but he was careful not to look directly at anyone, in case he made contact. In case he got himself caught. Though, he was sure Hermione would be on it the moment class ended. 

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” Draco looked at her and nodded his head, hoping his eyes told the truth because he definitely wasn’t. She gave a quiet laugh, though he knew she found nothing funny. “You’re such a liar.” 

Draco just nodded again, eyeing the objects on his desk. He didn’t plan on doing anything with them, he was far too nervous. He only kept thinking about how dumb he’d been to come back to school, how absolutely idiotic the idea was. He didn’t care if something had happened to his mum and dad, he didn’t care that Hermione Granger, and probably everyone else, knew about it and he didn’t. He didn’t _care_ anymore.

Caring took energy, energy he didn’t have anymore. He’d cared about his father all of his life and he’d been hurt by him. He’d cared about his mother all of his life and he’d been hurt by her. He cared and he cared and he cared and no one _ever_ cared back. He had no more energy to care, if his father was dead so be it. If his mother was gone, so be it. Maybe he could join them, maybe then, after an eternal rest, he’d have enough energy to care again. Care that he’d wasted his life. The eighteen years that he’d lived were for not, because he only used them to cause pain. 

He didn’t care anymore.

He _couldn’t_ care anymore.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendships have always been difficult for Draco, but with the way things are now, they're a whole lot harder. Besides, does he even deserve friendship, after everything he's done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike chapter six, this chapter was read through and planned out. I hope this one suffices a bit better than the last, though I didn't really try to give our poor baby a break. Hopefully, we'll see him get some relief soon, but to be honest, your guess is as good as mine lol. I'm just the writer.

Draco found he’d never realized just how strange feelings could be. How completely and utterly  _ strange _ they could be, without even meaning to. He’d never really been allowed to have feelings; whether the rule had been set by his parents or himself, he didn’t entirely know. The emotions that could make him stick out to the Dark Lord, or even his father, were made to be kept at bay from an early age. They were hidden.

No. They were  _ gone _ , as if they’d never been there. As if they didn’t exist. But they did, Merlin’s beard, they did. And they’d come out when Draco was by himself, positive that no one would be around, not even his mother because she could no longer be trusted. They came out fast and strong and hard from their lack of use. They  _ hurt _ , they hurt him all the time. They made him want to do horrible things, to himself and to others. 

Draco hated them, he hated being vulnerable. He hated to be in pain, he hated the pain they made him feel. He hated the thoughts they made him think, he hated the voices they made him hear. He hated how they’d well up, causing his chest to ache in the weight of it all. He couldn’t explain his hatred for the basic human necessity, because apparently  _ not _ having those horrible feelings made him crazy. 

But when Hermione Granger teared up, he saw for the first time just how wondrous they could be. The way she let tears fall freely when he’d said nothing on the topic of his mother. Apparently she’d fallen ill and was bedridden. He didn’t know if he cared, but Hermione did. He didn’t really know why, but he thought it was beautiful. She didn’t care that he was watching her cry, she just wanted him to know she felt bad for him. Empathy.

For the first time, he didn't think it was another word for weak.

When she held him close, whispering in his ear that everything would be okay, he believed her. He didn’t know why, he didn't see how things  _ could _ even begin to start being okay. But he believed her. He really did. 

They’d stayed that way, holding one another, for quite a while. Draco didn’t understand why she was caring for him, though he wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of game. But it didn’t feel like a trick, and that scared him. Her motherly presence was soothing, especially since he’d gone without one for such a long time. He didn’t get uncomfortable, even when the hug went on for longer than a minute. It was  _ nice _ to be held, it was nice to be shown affection. 

Even if it  _ was _ from a girl who punched him in the third year, he found he didn’t really care in the moment.

When he’d finally been released, the two had sat down and together they’d transfigured the objects, Hermione’s and his own, into lovely golden cushions. He’d been rather proud of himself, though he’d been careful not to show it. It was especially difficult when Hermione told him that his cushions looked “positively lovely.” Her nose was a faint red that Draco knew  _ had _ to burn. He felt bad that she’d cried for him, but he hadn’t said anything.

He didn’t think it’d bring attention to himself, since he was only saying it to her, but he thought it might be out of character. There were very few minutes left in class, and the two hadn’t spoken a word. It was a comfortable silence as Draco stroked the silk fabric on his cushion. He did think he’d done rather well, now that he’d thought about it. 

“You’ll be tagging along with me, I hope.” She whispered. Draco didn’t process what she said until a few long seconds later. He’d been wondering why exactly Potter or the Weasel hadn't paid them a very unwanted visit, but he hadn’t wanted, or planned, to ask. 

“Sorry?” He whispered back. 

“You’ll be tagging along with me?” Hermione smiled, and he was filled with a strange sense of warmth. He shook his head, sighing. He didn’t think it’d be half bad, tagging along with Granger. After all, she had a mean punch, perhaps no one would hurt him with him at her hip. But along with Granger, Potter and Weasley would be part of the equation and he was far from ready for that conversation.

He wondered if he’d been friends with Hermione before, would things be different. Would he be in the same situation he was in? And if he was, would he at least have actual friends that cared about him instead of just themselves? He didn’t blame Pansy or Blaise, of course not. But he was still angry,  _ that _ was an emotion he’d been raised to show freely. Anger made you strong, did it not?

No one hurt you when you were angry. No one even came close to you. Anger was the only good emotion, or so he’d thought. Anger didn’t make you vulnerable, but it sure as hell didn’t get you any friends. He didn’t know what was more important, vulnerability or friendship. Both seemed like things his father would disapprove, but wouldn’t that mean they’d both be good?

Draco decided his brain was too full of confusion to decide. 

“Why not?” Draco just stared, then motioned to the people behind her. He’d made a habit of looking down whenever Potter or Weasley looked their way, and he hadn’t told Hermione a thing, because they weren’t being rude. They just looked concerned for Hermione, which Draco thought was exceptionally valid. He wouldn’t trust Pansy with some suicidal maniac if he could help it.

Hermione looked behind her and sighed. “They won’t do a thing, you’ve no idea what’s happening and you’re-” she took a sharp breath, her eyes filling with tears again. “You’re  _ hurting _ .”

“I am not.” Draco said shortly, squeezing his cushion so as not to raise his voice. Anything to not bring unwanted attention. He was  _ not _ hurting. He wouldn’t allow it, he couldn’t be vulnerable. It was perfectly fine if Hermione cried, she was Hermione Granger, she was a hero. She deserved it.

He did not. He deserved the pain the bottled up feeling brought. He relished in the ache in his chest, sometimes, when he allowed himself to go numb, he even enjoyed it. “I’m not hurting,” he added, this time quieter, as if the volume would cancel out his anger and lies.

“They won’t hurt you, I know you’re scared but-”

“I’m not scared Hermione Granger,” he said. Whispered. He found it exceedingly difficult to call her just ‘Hermione’ but he tried, because she’d asked him to and he didn’t want to hurt her anymore than he already had.

“Then you’ll come with me.” She didn’t ask, it was more of a statement. He shook his head. “I won’t let them hurt you, I won’t let anyone-”

“Why do you care so much?” He yelled, so much for not wanting to bring attention. Everyone was looking at him, Potter and Weasley were standing, trying to walk over to them. “What is it to you, helping me?” He was starting to cry, he needed to  _ go _ . He didn’t trust her at all, he didn’t trust anyone. How could he, when everyone he knew had either hurt him to the point of no forgiveness or been someone he himself had bullied in adolescence. 

“ _ Draco _ ,” she said, her voice small as if she was going to cry again. Her lip was beginning to shake and Draco just couldn’t handle it anymore. He’d wanted to show her the books he’d found, wanted to ask if she’d been made to read them by her Muggle parents. He wanted to ask what the Muggles did for fun, he wanted to ask for more book recommendations for after he finished the ones he’d already gotten. He’d wanted a  _ friend _ , he’d thought he got one.

Why did he have to be a Malfoy?

He stood quickly, feeling as though the people he  _ knew _ weren’t even moving were closing in on him the longer he sat still. He collected his things, but left the cushions on the desk. The professor could get them herself, that was  _ if _ she wasn’t disgusted by the hands which had crafted them.

He slammed the classroom door behind him, and didn’t look back. Not because he was strong, god's no. because he was afraid if he looked back he’d see something that would set off the tears he was working hard to keep at bay. 

~

Hermione was right, he was a complete idiot. He hadn’t gone to any of his other classes, hadn’t made it to lunch, and his stomach was aching for a dinner he didn’t allow himself to get. Did he deserve to get food? He knew food wasn’t something you could deserve or not deserve, you couldn’t “not deserve” a basic necessity. But that didn’t stop his abusive mind from telling him he couldn’t leave his hiding spot to go and eat. 

He’d spent the remainder of his day sobbing loud cries until his voice cracked and went silent. He had the silencing charm over his small little area, and thus found it appropriate to scream and yell as if his life depended on it. This was why he hated feeling, this was why he loved the numbness he forced himself to feel on a daily basis. Because it  _ hurt _ and he was  _ tired _ of hurting every single day of his short life. He didn’t want to hurt anymore, but it seemed that was the only thing he was good for. 

When he finally felt the sweet, sweet numbness wash over him, he slept. His eyes burned and he continuously sneezed because of the everlasting burn in his nose. He slept for hours, but it could’ve been minutes. It could’ve been years, decades even. Maybe when he finally decided to put away his cowardly ways, he’d find the castle an abandoned ruin and he’d relish in the thought that he was completely and utterly forgotten. 

Of course, things rarely worked in his favor and he realized shortly after his waking that it was still September second. He couldn’t find the strength to get up from his small, dark corner in wherever he was. He’d blacked out during his little walk out, he didn’t remember anything after slamming the door shut. But he casted the “Lumos” charm and decided to make the best of the moment. 

He got fairly far into his book before the aching in his stomach became unbearable. He cursed his wealthy upbringing for causing him to barely make it a few hours without a plentiful meal. He’d allowed himself a few peaceful thoughts of death by starvation before he snuck out from his hideaway and tried to find the Great Hall from his current unknown spot. 

The sun had gone down and the halls were quiet, allowing him to take in the wonderful silence he’d been craving. His mind went back to the days before, when he’d taken the sweet silence for granted. It only lasted a few moments though, because his stomach growled rather rudely, causing Draco to set off again. He wondered if, being the  _ adult _ that he now was, he’d get in trouble for roaming the halls without permission after curfew.

It probably would get him into a bit of trouble, but his brain was numb trying to block out anymore feelings that could overstimulate his already stressed out mind, and he couldn’t find the strength to care. He wrapped his cloak tighter around him, unsuccessfully blocking out the coolness from the hall. He walked in a pattern, liking the sound his shoes made against the empty corridors. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Draco turned to the source, but couldn’t see because of the lack of lighting. “You shouldn’t be out.”

The Bloody Baron floated right next to him, knocking Draco out of his drunken state and causing him to take a step back. “Only trying to get some food Baron.” He explained, wishing his eyes would adjust to the dark. He didn’t like not being able to see the people he talked to, he didn’t like being left in the dark.

“Well, I’m sure your fellow eighth years have collected quite a few morsels after their ruckus from earlier, go to your common room and try there.”

“I can’t go to the common room, Baron.” Draco thought that much would be obvious, seeing as he had embarrassed himself to no end just hours before. Going now would only subject himself to harassment that he didn’t think he could handle right now. He wasn’t thinking properly, and when he wasn’t thinking properly, bad things happened. Things like self-control flew out the window when he wasn’t thinking properly. “Can’t I go to the Slytherin dorms, I’d be quiet.  _ Honest _ .”

Draco knew the answer would be “no,” but that didn’t stop him from asking. He wanted to go back to the dorms he was used to, to the people he was used to. Slytherin students were normal to him; the way they talked to one another, the way they understood one another. Even the most stuck up of people,  _ Draco Malfoy himself _ , could feel at ease. He just wanted that back.

“I think you know what I’d say.” Draco nodded, he didn’t need to hear it aloud. That would only make it real. He wasn’t thinking properly and he  _ definitely _ wouldn’t be able to handle such things being said. “Then you’ll be off? To your  _ proper _ dorms,” The Bloody Baron asked.

Draco shrugged and turned, no use in using his words. Words made things true and he didn’t know if he was telling the truth. He wasn’t thinking properly.

~

He placed his hand on the blank wall before stepping through. If he despised anything and everything about the Eighth years, he at least enjoyed the entrance to the Eighth year common room. It felt like walking through the Platform 9 ¾ on the morning of September 1 st , something he’d unfortunately missed out on for quite a few years. He wondered if others found the platform as wonderful as he did or if they thought it something boring compared to the other wonders of the Hogwarts experience. 

If anyone  _ did _ love the platform as much as he did, they definitely didn’t love it for the same reasons. He had a feeling that no one else thought of Hogwarts as a safe house in the middle of a storm, not even the Slytherins. No one else had to deal with his parents, no one had to deal with his family. No one understood.

Why would they?

Stepping into the common room, he tensed, hoping no one would be present. His wish wasn’t exactly granted, but definitely heard, because of the few students that littered the room, all were fast asleep. Draco figured it must be extremely late for the common room to be full of sleeping people.

He snuck his way over to the staircase but stopped when he heard laughing from one of the doors. He couldn’t tell if it belonged to the girls’ dorms or boys but he turned anyway, not willing to take the risk. 

Sleeping in the common room didn’t seem too bad, thinking about it once again. He ruled out the stools that sat on the island, because they had no cushion and he didn't think he was  _ so _ lowlife he had to sleep on those. The couches were also a no, for each held about five students each. Draco wanted to know why they couldn’t have just gone up to their dorm rooms and slept  _ comfortably _ , but he realized it wasn his place to judge anymore - never really was - and turned away. 

He was happy to see that a spare chair was open near the fire, and he decided that it would be the best place to sleep for the night, thinking it might be smart to warm himself after the hours he spent in a cold corner. He thought himself rather brilliant when he finally settled down, surely a few warm moments by the open fire would sooth his aching mind. 

It did not.

It did not because the very moment he got himself relaxed and ready for a soothing rest, a certain dark-skinned, messy-haired  _ man _ had the audacity to awaken and stare at him. Draco had never been so  _ shocked. _

How was his luck so very  _ horrendous _ that he just so happened to choose the seat that the one and only Harry Jame Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, was sleeping right next to?

The two stared at each other for quite a while before saying a thing. Harry must have been asleep for quite some time, because his voice was raspy and deep and croaky, not to mention his eyes, which were usually wide and huge, were tiny slits as he struggled to see. Draco tensed a bit, realizing this exchange could either end very horribly or slightly alright. He had a sinking feeling that it would be the former.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, fumbling for his glasses. Draco didn’t understand why the gods above hated him so much, well he did of course, but he wished they didn't. How difficult would it have been to allow him a good night's sleep? How difficult would it have been for Harry Potter to sleep in his proper area. He didn’t have the situation Draco had, where every bloody movement could get him exiled. He had the upperhand in every situation, he was the complete opposite of Draco.

Why couldn’t the git just sleep in his dorms?

“Malfoy?” Harry asked again, squinting despite the fact that he already had his glasses on his face. Draco coughed and stood, trying to make himself scarce before Potter realized exactly what was happening. Now it was Draco’s turn to fumble as he searched desperately for his bag. “What’re you doing?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but he didn’t bother saying anything. Potter had the upper hand, always had and now, after everything he’d done for the fate of the Wizarding World, he always would. It was better to conform to the unspoken rules early, rather than pay the price later. It's better to be compliant and respectful, if anything, Draco could do that. After all, he’d learned to make himself appear like the good child since infancy. His father had made it very clear he wouldn’t accept adolescent-like behaviour, and even if he  _ had _ let Draco do what he wanted in school, he had certainly paid the price for it when he returned home.

No Draco wouldn’t allow Harry that opportunity, and quickly found the rest of his things. He was an idiot, thinking he’d be allowed a moment of peace. After all, he’d already gotten one. He should have followed the Bloody Baron’s instructions and eaten a bit of food, maybe then he’d have enough sense to see what was right in front of him.

When he stood up however, Harry Potter placed an unwanted hand on Draco’s shoulder, causing him to flinch back tremendously hard. Which of course, only caused the Saviour to be more heroic and try to comfort him. “Piss off, Potter. I don’t need your help.” Draco sneered, though his voice was trembling and his hands shook with anxiety.

Harry, seemingly exhausted, only nodded and took a step back,  _ apologizing. _ It only made Draco roll his eyes again though, what reason did the oh so great Harry Potter have to apologize? “Oi! Wait up though, ‘Mione’s left some food for you, I was made to give it up.”

Draco whipped his head around, nearly losing his balance. Hermione Granger had done what? And she’d left  _ Harry Potter _ in charge of giving it to him? What kind of game were these two playing at?

_ Stupid saviours, always desperate to save _ .

Harry bent down, pulling out a plate from a bag on the floor. Sandwiches and boiled potatoes and treacle tart sat on it, calling to him invitingly. Draco’s mouth watered in anticipation, but he dismissed it. “Not hungry, but  _ thank you _ , Potter.” It was sad to admit, but that sarcastic thanks was difficult to give.

“Your stomach says otherwise.” It seemed Harry had gotten the sleep out of his system, and was back to talking like the usual prick he was known to be. Draco groaned and sighed, but turned  _ back _ around to face Potter and the plate again. His stomach  _ was _ saying otherwise, and he absolutely despised it. “Just take the food, Malfoy. So I can go back to sleep, it’s not like it’s from me anyway, is it?”

Draco glared at him, but took the food nevertheless. It  _ was _ from Hermione Granger, who, despite embarrassing him rather badly, was truly a kind person. As much as he hated to admit it. She might have been his favorite Gryffindor, second only to George and  _ Fred- _

His breath caught.  _ Fuck _ . “Alright?”

“Piss off, Potter.” Harry sighed and flopped down into the chair again, seemingly falling asleep. Draco internally groaned, wondering why the big buffoon couldn’t have just gone upstairs and into the dorms, where he was actually  _ welcome _ .

Maybe it was just his way of being the insufferable git he’d always been.  _ At least I’m trying to change _ .

But it wasn’t enough, and he knew that. Because Draco Malfoy was just that, a Malfoy. And he’d always have to struggle because of the choices he made. Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived, all he’d have to do was be alive and his work was done. The cards weren’t always dealt fairly he supposed.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's an arse and Draco just wants a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd be updating every week, but I LIED. I'm trying my best to update normally but my brain says no and idk what to do about that. I meant to post this yesterday, but at least it isn't too late, right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy rude Harry and more sweet baby Draco who just wants love and attention!

‘Thank God it’s Friday’ was a phrase Draco had never quite understood until his eighth year at Hogwarts. After two more days of excessive concealment and trying to not worry about the judgement of others, Friday was a day he accepted gratefully. He’d rarely made it on time to any meal besides breakfast, and the homework he was able to get done was done in the privacy of his four-poster bed, usually when the Hufflepuff boys had gone to sleep. Which took  _ forever _ .

The classes he was taking were all stressful, because they were preparing for the N.E.W.T.S. they weren’t able to take in their seventh year. The first day festivities with free play and joyful talking were a one time thing, and their teachers buckled down tremendously the very next chance they got. For every sheet of homework he successfully completed, about a million more popped up in the next class. 

And, as if classes weren’t stressful enough, Hermione Granger, for whatever reason, thought it a top priority to be friends with him. Not that being friends with a genius such as herself would  _ ever _ be a burden, because he didn’t think such a thing could be possible, but there was the ever prominent fact that when there was a Granger, there was a Potter. His small run in with Potter had shaken him up enough to last quite a while, so any thought of trying to befriend Hermione would be out of the picture. 

Harry Potter was so…  _ perfect _ in every way. Not only did the seventh years fawn over him as if he was some beautiful celebrity, though Draco supposed he was (scratch the part of him being beautiful) , but he was also just, for lack of a better word,  _ perfect _ . He wasn’t going out of his way to be the hero everyone thought him to be, he wasn’t making a point to be “The Saviour.” He was just trying to complete his studies. He was just trying to be  _ normal _ .

If Draco  _ ever _ was in the situation Harry Potter was in, he didn’t think he could go around  _ not _ flaunting his wonderful feats to everyone who turned the corner. He’d bask in the praise they placed upon him. He’d do anything he would want, just because he could. It seemed that all Harry Potter wanted to do was  _ forget _ . Forget the war, forget the Dark Lord. Just forget.

Draco hated that, because it was all he wanted to do too. Despite trying to be a changed man, he still had an aching resentment to resembling Potter in even the slightest way. 

But, despite being in a situation such as the one he was so annoyingly placed in, he still thanked Merlin for making it through the week. He found that people didn’t really know he was there, save a few. The people in his Muggle Studies class could care less about him, most of them were quiet anyway. They just enjoyed the class and went their separate ways, didn’t even acknowledge each other in the halls. Draco could care less. The eighth years all knew he was there, each and every one. But they didn’t bother him, they didn’t hurt him, and they definitely didn’t murder him. For reasons unknown to Draco, of course. In his opinion, murder should have been one of the first things to happen, he should have been the first to go.

But he wasn’t. He’d made it through the week. Thank God it’s Friday.

Draco sat on one of the window seats in the eighth year common room, finishing up a Potions recipe. Apparently, eighth and seventh years were old enough to create their very own potions without any help whatsoever. Draco knew he could do it, he was rather skilled in potions class, thanks to his godfather, but it definitely didn’t stop him from being worried. If the potion failed, he didn’t really know what would happen. That was one of the many problems with creating your own potions, no one had ever tested them before. 

Distracted and worried, he didn’t notice when Hermione Granger sat next to him, pulling book after book out of her bag. It took quite a few minutes, as well as a tap on his shoulder for him to finally acknowledge her presence. This happened quite often in the week they’d been there, and Draco didn’t really mind her anymore. 

“Hello,” she said pleasantly, starting to work. Draco returned the welcome, though it did take him a bit. He had been trying to see if saying “hi” or “hello” would be the best way to go, which seemed silly, but that was what he got for being anxious all the time. Awkward greetings to people and halfway friends he didn’t talk to. It was more than he deserved, if he was being honest.

“Are you working on the potions project?” Draco nodded, handing over his parchment and going to stand next to her when she asked to see it. “I wouldn’t put these next to one another, if I were you,” Hermione said quietly. Draco tensed and stared at her. When she looked over to him, her eyes widened and she rushed to apologize. 

“Thank you,” he sighed, taking the parchment and writing himself a small note to fix the mistake. “I hadn’t noticed, didn’t cross my mind.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, happy that he hadn’t gotten angry at her. “Oh, alright.” Draco sat back down, wondering why Hermione had gotten nervous. Hermione was never nervous, she was always strong and held her head high. Why was she so nervous? 

Was it something to do with him?

Draco didn’t like that idea, didn’t like the idea that his new friend was nervous around him. Scared of him even. So he focused on his parchment, correcting his idiotic mistake. Hermione was silent for a while, which only made him more and more anxious; and with every scratch of his quill, the urge to say something,  _ anything _ , grew tremendously. “Have you eaten today?”

Draco placed down his parchment, closing his eyes and just taking a moment to process what she asked. He’d found over the two or three days they’d befriended one another, if you could call it that, that Hermione was prone to asking sudden and abrupt questions. He didn’t know what his eating that day had to do with his potions project, nor did it have a thing to do with whatever assignment she was working on. 

“I’m sorry?” He didn’t like his responses, never did. Hermione’s were usually so long and fulfilling. His were blunt and short and probably exceedingly annoying. 

“I just noticed you haven’t been making it on time to meals.” She placed down her parchment too, locking eyes with him. Draco, ever the coward, was the first to break eye contact. “It’s not very healthy.”

Draco gave her a look that he hoped told her “you make no bloody sense,” but in the nicest way possible. What did he care about healthy habits? Especially when unhealthy ones ended his life sooner than necessary. Draco blinked, taken aback. Maybe that thought was a bit excessive. 

He shook his head a bit, not really knowing where the sudden burst of embarrassment came from. He supposed it came from wanting the approval of Hermione Granger. Her approval was ten times more pleasant than that of the Dark Lord, and certainly his father as well. Approval from her meant approval in the eyes of the public, which, over the course of a few weeks had quickly changed from “unimportant” to “all he wanted.”

“Well, you’re an adult now, I’m not going to stop you from making bad choices.” She stuck her nose up and continued on with her school work, leaving Draco completely confused. Of all the scenarios that could have happened, out of all the possibilities he’d played in his head in just those short few seconds, this hadn’t been one of them. He found himself getting anxious at the fact that she wasn’t doing anything, she just… worked on her classwork as if nothing had happened. 

Slowly, he got back to his own work, but the back of his mind raced with questions as to why Hermione had done what she did. It wasn’t too long after when he found himself staring at her, silently calling for her to look up and notice him. She had made him aware of his stomach and the aching pain that existed there, and had been all day probably. 

After a few minutes, Draco realized that he was being purposely ignored, and he found himself laughing at the genius of her. She had gotten him to be conscious of himself without saying so much as a word. Ever brilliant she was. 

“Erm, you know Hemrione,” he began, wondering how best to craft his sentences so as to not bring awareness of his stupidity. After a few quick moments of intense thought, he realized whatever brains lurked in the depth of his rotting mind were  _ nothing _ compared to the ones of Hermione Granger, and so, he got on with his sentence rather quickly. “I  _ did _ eat breakfast.”

`

He could see her stifle a smirk, which erupted an explosion of validation in his soul. Hermione was smiling  _ at _ him,  _ because _ of him. A sense of pride washed over him, and he thought he might continue on this winning streak. “Well, that’s good Draco. Though you haven’t eaten anything else, I’m sure.”

Her tone was disapproving and made for him to dislike, but the sound of his name coming out of a mouth as loving and trusted as hers was a surreal moment he couldn’t quite explain. 

“I guess I could eat now, if you’re hungry?” He asked politely. He found he liked being able to stop working on school work and actually have something to do that wasn't bullying other people. He saw Hermione hide her smug look, which only made him smile himself. He’d made Hermione happy!

~

It was rather late when he finally finished his school work, and he sat lazily on an ottoman near the fire, reading his book. The common room was empty, save a few tired souls, and Draco had decided to sleep on one of the couches downstairs rather than travel all the way up and face the Hufflepuff boys. Though the entirety of Eighth year pretended there wasn’t a mass murderer living with them, Draco knew they silently judged, and sleeping in tense air was never good for the brain.

Hermione had left him rather soon after dinner, and he’d retreated to his small hiding spot for the rest of the evening. But now, at the early hours of Saturday morning, nearly everyone was asleep and he felt like he could be at peace. 

He was far from tired himself, and just enjoyed the serenity that filled the room like a symphony. To Draco, when things were quiet, the world could transform into its rightful self. Loud places meant conscious people, but quiet places mean the opposite. The world didn't mind a few conscious minds, as long as those minds promised to keep a secret. And Draco, he didn't have a single soul to tell about the world's nighttime transformations.

He sighed contently, fondly stroking at the pages of his book before deciding to call it a night. Just as he was standing up to find a comfortable spot to rest, his eyes settled on the round window and the big space that looked absolutely brilliant for reading by moonlight. Quickly and quietly, he picked up a thick blanket and a few pillows and made his way over to the nook, becoming far too excited over such a child-like space than what was normally accepted. 

But it didn't matter, he was keeping the secrets of the world, and in return, the world kept his.

~

“Draco? Draco? Draco Malfoy?” Draco was awoken by a sing-songy voice, and when he rolled over, back aching from the hard surface of the curved window seat, his face was tickled by long golden locks. He sat up and stared angrily at Luna Lovegood before realizing who he was looking at and put himself at ease. “Good morning, Draco Malfoy!”

Draco gave an internal groan because, judging by the lack of sunlight from the window, it was in fact, very early in the morning. He didn’t say anything to Luna - in fear of saying something rude, because he had a rather horrible habit of being quite grumpy in the morning - but instead gave a soft grunt. 

“This is quite the interesting place to sleep, don’t you have a bed?” Draco sighed because clearly Luna wasn’t getting the memo that he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but rather than lash out, he simply shrugged his shoulders. There was a beat of silence, in which Draco was becoming rather uncomfortable, and decided that waking up would be the best thing to do. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he looked at Luna once again, surprised to see her smiling with wide eyes. He was definitely confused on how she was so  _ awake _ at such an early time, but he refrained from speaking still.

“If you don’t have a bed, you’re welcome to sleep in the Ravenclaw dorms. We-”

“He has a bed, Luna.” Draco turned his head to look at the source of the familiar voice and nearly choked when he saw a crossed looking, bedheaded Harry Potter. He stood in pajama pants and a rather scratchy looking sweater with a big “H” on it. Draco stood immediately, wondering why exactly he was being awoken by Harry fucking Potter and Luna Lovegood. 

Like a drunk surprised into soberness, Draco was overcome in instant energy. 

“He has a bed, and he refuses to use it. Probably thinks he’s too good for it.” Draco gulped and held his left wrist in his right hand, twisting it nervously. He didn’t quite like the tone in Potter’s voice and winced when he heard an angry growl come from his mouth. Ever confused and certainly a bit scared - because who wasn’t afraid of Harry Potter these days? - he looked to Luna with uncertainty in his eyes. He felt a sense of peace wash over him when he saw Luna’s smile, but the ever pounding thought that Harry Potter still hated him, understandably in Draco’s opinion, was enough to make even the sweetest girl feel like an enemy.

“Does the cat have your tongue, Malfoy? Can’t be bothered to speak to a half-blood and his friend?” Harry was stepping closer, and Draco was stepping away. It made sense for Harry to be in a hateful mood towards him, Draco whole-heartedly expected it. But when the whole of a group is treating you in a certain way, despite not deserving it, it’s always surprising to have someone treat you like the group should have the entire time.

Draco shook his head quickly, wanting to show Harry that he wasn’t bothered by half-bloods or muggleborns. That he never had been, and that he was just trying to keep up a stupid image. But his silence only furthered Potter’s point. He winced when the curly-haired boy scoffed and turned out of the common room. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s grumpy when he’s not well rested.” Luna said, still smiling. Did she ever  _ not _ smile? 

Draco, still lost, rubbed his eyes in a desperate attempt to wake himself up and figure out what the  _ fuck _ was going on. He was  _ freezing _ cold, and upon looking down at himself, he realized he was only wearing a thin shirt and boxers, his robes seeming to have fallen off in his sleep. Embarrassed, he reached down and picked up the day old robes and threw them over his shoulder, relishing in the rush of warmth for a moment. 

It was a few moments in quiet relaxation before he remembered Luna, and, in a rush to keep maturity intact, cleared his throat and gave her his attention. “Why-” He looked to the door where Potter had just gone through, worried that he might come back. “Why’ve you woken me up this early Lovegood?”

“ _ Luna _ is just fine,” she said cheerfully, completely evading his question. He gave her a confused look, nodded his head to acknowledge her name choice, and cleared his throat again. When it was a few moments and his question still went unanswered, he asked again.

“Quidditch,” Luna said simply, as if that made any sort of sense at all. 

“Quidditch?” He asked, hoping that he hadn’t heard her correctly. What did Quidditch have to do with being woken up at the crack of dawn?

“Hermione invited you actually, and Neville and I thought it would be nice, seeing as you have absolutely no friends anymore.” Draco tensed at her harsh but truthful words. “Harry and Ron were a bit reluctant, but Ron eventually agreed. Well, he did after Ginny threatened to kick his shins.” Draco gave her a pointed look, hoping it would show just how completely lost he still was.

Not to mention, what were the Weaslette and Longbottom backing him up for? He summed up the crazy sounding sentences coming from Luna Lovegood to be a result of his tired brain, and he cursed himself for taking so long to go to bed. He watched Luna’s mouth move quickly as if he were in a trance and he paid little to no attention to her actual words. It wasn’t until a rough hand was slammed onto his shoulder and he was all but dragged out of the Eighth year common room that he was snapped out of his trance. Just in time too, because Harry goddamn Potter was pulling him so quickly and so fast that he was practically a small toy being pulled by a child.

It took quite a few minutes for him to come to his senses, because everytime he was nearly there, Harry would throw him around like a ragdoll and the thoughts would fly from his mind. “P-Potter-” he stammered, trying to get the large hand off of him. Harry Potter showed no signs of slowing down, and Luna, who was tagging along behind the duo, was doing her best to stop him, but her voice was far too quiet to break the barriers set up in Potter’s mind. “Potter, let me go.”

Harry might’ve heard him, but he showed no signs of a registered voice and he seemed set on his destination, which went unknown to Draco. It was  _ quite _ difficult, maneuvering down the stairs and through hallways while being half way bent over, but he managed. It wasn’t until they reached the Great Hall that Potter let him go, shooting him an angry and annoyed look that only caused Draco to shrink back. 

“Harry, we ought to go out the smaller door,” Luna said, motioning for a door that also led to the outside, but definitely wouldn’t be as loud as the entrance door. Harry nodded, and walked over to it, not giving Draco so much as a second glance. Draco, still quite disoriented, had half a mind to turn around and go back to the dorms, already thinking of his four poster bed and it’s warm blankets. Some sleep would do nicely for his mind, as maybe the never-ending anxiety induced thoughts would be put to rest, even if it was only a few hours. 

His thoughts were interrupted but a harsh voice, and when Draco looked at its source, he was immediately startled out of his head. Harry Potter gave him such a dangerous look that Draco quite literally couldn’t think of anything else besides making the curly-haired man  _ not _ mad anymore. He rushed to the door and followed Potter and Lovegood out of the school, and far far away from his beloved bed. 

They reached the Quidditch pitch rather quickly, or maybe it took a while and Draco didn’t notice on account of being lost in the sea of his own mind. He was trying desperately hard to think of something,  _ anything _ , to say, but nothing came to mind. When he finally did come up with a suitable sentence and not just a bunch of incoherent gibberish, he was shut down by Potter, who didn't seem at all in the mood for him.

“Potter,” Draco started, rubbing his right shoulder. It was aching from the grip that Harry had on it, and he was sure that his sensitive skin was creating a large and probably very noticeable bruise. “Was this truly necessary?”

“Yes, Harry. You were being rather unnecessary. No one  _ likes _ being woken up at half past six in the morning.”  _ Half past six? _ Draco was appalled at having slept less than three hours. His future self would surely be cursing him for his idiocy. Though, he was grateful for Luna, who definitely did  _ not _ have to stick up for him.

“Maybe if the prat listened instead of fantasizing about his silly Slytherin dreams, he’d have heard that we were in a rush.” Draco tensed yet again - he was reaching quite a record - and stared at Potter, trying to figure out if the boy was truly “tired” like Luna had said, or if he was just being hateful towards him. Though Draco definitely deserved the latter, he much rathered the former. He definitely preferred the idea that Potter wouldn’t hate him when he was more awake.

“I wasn’t-”

“Hush, Malfoy. No one wants your opinion. We didn't care for it before, and we don’t care for it now.” Draco’s eyes widened in surprise and he closed his mouth quickly, feeling his eyes begin to burn, as well as his nose. He glanced at Luna, saddening a bit more when he saw her smile falter. He didn’t think he deserved her pity, nor her sadness, no matter how small it was. 

Harry led them to the changing rooms and Draco, curious as to what was happening, leaned over to Luna and whispered to her.

_ “Where are we-” _

“I believe I instructed you to be quiet, Malfoy,” Potter said, smirking when Draco stared up at him angrily. Draco clenched his fists in annoyance, a bit of fear tied in somewhere as well. He decided that shutting up and listening to The Saviour was the best thing he could do right now, namely because Potter had grown exceedingly since they last saw each other in the Room of Requirement and Draco wasn’t interested in being the source of his anger anytime soon.

Payback was something in his near future, he was sure, but he didn’t think he could handle it at half past six in the morning.

“Harry,” Luna said, her voice as light and whimsical as ever. “At least let him ask questions, it’s not like he knows.” Draco heard Potter scoff as he pulled the changing room doors open. He rolled his eyes when Harry held the door open for Luna and immediately let it go when it was Draco’s turn to cross the threshold. He was very concerned as to why he’d been woken out of his restless sleep to do something with a person who didn’t even want him around. 

_ Just like father _ .

Draco snickered as the thought of Harry Potter being exactly like Lucius Malfoy crossed his mind, but quickly shut his mouth at the pointed look he was given. He looked around the room, remembering the times when it was a place he was in often. He was sure Potter and the Weasel, all of them in fact, had the same amount of memories that he had, and he was sure theirs were much happier and filled with laughter and smiles, but he didn’t let that idea fester in his mind too long.

The changing rooms weren’t a source of extreme fun in his mind, but they did give him some happy memories of his childhood, and that was more than he could say on behalf of his childhood home. 

He wasn’t too happy when he spotted Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom coming from behind one of the walls in gray quidditch uniforms, followed by Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and a tall but scrawny boy that Draco didn’t recognize. He took a step back, taking in the new people in the room. 

The group were talking up a loud ruckus when they spotted their tiny group of three, but quickly invited them into the conversation. Draco, overwhelmed from all of the noise, quietly stepped back, rubbing his shoulder subconsciously. Draco realized that Luna had been wrong, and Harry Potter’s sour mood wasn’t because of his lack of sleep, for the boy was smiling and laughing within seconds of talking to his friends. Which meant that the anger he’d flooded Draco with was purposeful and specifically meant for him. 

“Draco,” Draco looked up, recognizing the authoritative voice. Hermione looked at him happily, her eyes huge as if she wasn’t awake at six-thirty in the morning. “I’m so glad you could make it! I-” She stopped suddenly, and as she walked over to him her face fell. He tensed, hoping he hadn’t angered or saddened the only person that seemed to like him. 

“What happened to your shoulder?” His eyes widened and he dropped his left arm quickly. He didn't dare glance at Harry, fearing that if he did, the boy might lash out at him. He hadn’t meant to bring any attention to it, he hadn’t meant to bring any attention to himself at all.

“Erm, nothing Hermione,” he said, his voice barely over a whisper. “Nothing, honest,” he said a bit louder after seeing her disbelieving face.

“It’s not nothing,” she said, reaching out to touch it. When her hand fell onto the already tender shoulder, he winced and took another step back, this time not being able to help the fearful glance he gave Potter. Hermione saw it and turned angrily to the tall boy, an accusing look in her eye. “Harry James Potter, what did you do?” 

Potter rolled his eyes, looking down at her as if she was no threat. Draco, though he was standing off to the side with Luna, felt like he had been thrust into the middle of a heated argument. Draco looked at Hermione’s angry stance and shuddered at the thought of being in Potter’s position. He’d been there once before, and he wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in visiting that spot anytime soon.

“I didn’t  _ do _ anything, Hermione,” Potter said, smirking over at Ron. “Honest.” It was obvious that Hermione didn’t believe him at all, and instead turned to Draco, causing him to startle embarrassingly. 

“Did he hurt you?” Draco shook his head, unable to speak. He kept his eyes focused on the small freckle on Hemrione’s bridge, finding it difficult to look her in the eye. “You boys are a bunch of liars,” she said decidingly after a few seconds.

When Draco looked up, he caught Harry Potter smiling widely, as if he’d won the argument. Draco was sure he had, after all, when did the Saviour ever lose? He assumed his position of “Stay In The Background” and barely listened to what the others were saying. He did, however, manage to observe the others while he waited for the reason for his presence came about. 

Besides the boy he’d never seen before, everyone was quite familiar, but also rather different at the same time. If it were possible, Draco could’ve sworn that Ron Weasley had grown yet another head taller in just the few months since he’d been away from Hogwarts. Neville Longbottom was loads different as well, seeming to have grown in every way possible. He was taller, fitter, and his looks were beyond ordinary. Ginny Weasley herself had grown into a rather beautiful young woman, as had Luna Lovegood. Hermione Granger’s hair was surprisingly the most noticeable difference for Draco, because luckily for him and his dislike for change, she’d stayed mostly the same. But her hair was a wondrous sight to see, and he wished he’d told her as such in the days prior to this unexpected meeting. No longer was it bushy and frizzy, now, each individual curl was noticeable and prominent. Her hair glowed practically, and it was no wonder as to why Ron Weasley, even though engulfed in a conversation with Harry Potter, was sneaking quick glances at her.

Luna had joined into the conversation rather early on, so Draco was left to himself and his thoughts, truly a dangerous conversation. He was thankful that a few moments later he was interrupted by a loud clap from the Weaslette, who instructed him, Luna, and Potter to get changed into the extra three gray quidditch uniforms. Complying with the instructions, Draco walked slowly over to the changing area and followed Harry inside.

He did his best to not make a noise and changed quickly, so that he wouldn’t disturb the much taller boy. Draco had purposefully made sure not to look at Harry too much, not wanting to see how much better the younger boy had gotten than him. It wasn’t a competition anymore, it never had been to begin with, but old habits die hard and he wasn’t quite prepared for the changes he would see. 

Despite going his fastest, Harry still finished with him and Draco had to suffer the walk of shame as Harry pushed past him, tripping him in the process. Hermione gave Harry a deadly look and helped Draco up, checking to make sure he was alright.

“I’m peachy, Hermione,” he said angrily. “Just peachy.” He gripped his shoulder again and instead of retreating back to his corner away from the conversation, he forced himself to stand next to Granger. 

“May I ask,” he began, glancing cheekily at Harry. He decided it didn't matter what Harry had “instructed” him to do. He was an adult, and he could talk when and where he wanted to, Especially to a group of people who had dragged him out onto the Quidditch pitch at six o’clock in the morning. “Why am I here?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, then turned to Harry for the millionth time that morning. “You’re such an arsehole you couldn’t be bothered to tell him what’s going on?”

“I was told we’d be getting Ernie Macmillan, not some pompous brat!” Potter said, more like yelled, defending himself. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have gotten another one of Ginny’s friends!”

“So you go and assault his arm because you’re upset we didn’t get Ernie?” Hermione was quite upset at this, and behind her, Neville and Ginny stood at the ready, arms crossed and legs shoulder-length apart. Luna, timid and airy, made her way over too, smiling cheerfully at Ginny as if some big fight wasn’t happening directly in front of her. 

“I’m upset because you got Malfoy of all people!”

“He actually knows how to play! When you’ve got people like me and Luna on the team, wouldn’t you like an actual Quidditch player?” Draco didn't quite know what was happening, and he no longer felt safe next to Hermione. Not because she was the dangerous one, but because Harry Potter’s fist looked quite interested in slamming into Draco’s face.

“You act as if Malfoy can play without his daddy paying into the pockets of everyone in Scotland!” Draco clenched his fist but otherwise did nothing. Though it was his fight to fight, he was much too cowardly to even defend himself, let alone throw a punch.

“Oi, that’s enough,” Draco turned his head to Neville Longbottom, not quite expecting his voice to be so deep. “Let’s just play, it’s not as if he’ll be on your team Harry, he’ll be playing Seeker.”

Potter scoffed, giving Draco a once over before turning around and practically strutting to the field. Now, Draco was under the impression that Harry pretended to win every fight, because there was no way he could have beaten Hermione.

“I-I’m to play seeker?” He asked, addressing Neville but looking anywhere but. 

“Yeah,” Longbottom said, combing a hand through his head. “Yeah. And don’t worry about Harry either, he’s just grumpy in the mornings.”

Draco had never heard such an obvious lie.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about this chapter! It's kind of a filler, and probably not that good! But nevertheless, I hope you guys like it! Thank you for all of the lovely comments on the last chapter!

As much as Draco had relished in the conflicted memories of the Quidditch changing room, it was nothing compared to the feeling of flying through the air in the middle of a heated Quidditch game. Unlike the changing room, the memories of the actual game were always good ones. Even if the game ended sourly and he was scolded and embarrassed by the captain, he still had the fond recollection of soaring through the sky with only one thing on his mind: the golden snitch.

After being dubbed the Seeker in the small game he’d been suddenly recruited in, he had worried that he wouldn’t suffice as a good match against Paotter; but it seemed that the second his fingers touched the smooth handle of the school supplied broomstick, all of his training and practice rushed back to him in full force. 

His colored hair flapped and fluttered behind him, and he thought it made him look a bit like his old self, with a slicked back do up that made him seem posher than posh itself. The already cool air mixed with the wind that wooshed past him without a care in the world brought chill to his cheeks, but he found that he actually liked the feeling. 

He thought it brought a sort of surrealness to the stiff world he felt he now lived in.

His knuckles were white from how hard he gripped his broomstick handle, but he couldn’t care less. His mind was set on two things: the golden snitch and Harry Potter.

The angry wizard wasn’t playing fair, that much was obvious. But between the lack of six players in the usual fourteen person game, it went unnoticed to everyone but Draco. Hermione and Luna were playing Keeper, because according to them it was the easier position. Ron Weasley didn’t quite agree with that but was all the happier when he was granted the position of Chaser, playing against his sister. The boy whose name still went unknown to Draco played Beater, as did Neville Longbottom. Because only four of the eight people actually knew how to play Quidditch, it was a difficult game filled with many errors. It made sense that Harry’s cheating scandals were overlooked.

Draco’s initial idea was to keep to a routine, a standard play that any first-year Seeker would use. Hover and Search, a classic strategy. But after he’d nearly been knocked off of his broom twice by Potter, things had changed. Unbeknownst to the players below them, the two rivals had taken to soaring and diving and twisting in the air, showing off their skills and feigning Snitch Sights. Draco laughed as he convinced Harry that he’d spotted the snitch and nearly had the unruly-haired boy dive face first into the ground.

Not once did Harry Potter’s attitude falter, not once did the game give him a sense of happiness, which only furthered Draco’s idea that Harry wasn’t “just tired.” And when the game was called, cut short on account of hungry stomachs, Potter elbowed past Draco, muttering rude words in his direction. The adrenaline coursing through him didn't allow him to be phased by such harsh words, and their meaning didn’t set in until later that day.

“Draco, want to join us?” Draco stared at Neville Longbottom, having quite the difficult time stomaching the fact that this measly boy that was quite the coward was now a strong man that Draco had little to no chance of beating. His thoughts got in the way of processing the question, which resulted in an idiotic looking face as he tried to answer. 

“I’m… sorry?”

“Join us? For breakfast?” Neville explained, smiling. Draco didn’t think such a thing belonged on any of their faces so soon after the war, but that was a personal opinion and personal opinions belonging to Draco Malfoy needed to be kept silent. “Hermione said you haven’t been making it on time to meals and-”

“Hermione said what?” Both Draco and Neville turned to a sweaty faced Hermione Granger who had a mean glare on her face. 

“Only telling blondie that he needs to eat some food,” Neville stated, grinning wider. He dragged the towel hanging around his shoulders to his hip, bending and wiping his brow. They’d already changed, the lot of them, but it didn’t stop them from sweating. Draco was quite disgusted by it, and had half a mind to perform a cooling charm, but that might cause a disruption if he messed it up, which was quite likely.

“You weren’t supposed to  _ say _ that, Nev.” Hermione grinned, slapping Neville softly in the chest. They gave one another a fond look, a sign of a longtime friendship. Something that Draco wished he had with someone.

“What are you wearing Hermione?” Draco asked loudly, and quite randomly, seeing as though no one was talking about clothing. But in his attempt to get thoughts of longing out of his head, he hadn’t paid any attention. 

“Sweats, Draco. It’s more of a Muggle thing, but seeing as how this sport is quite an active one, it should be universal.” Hermione explained, looking at him in a way that made Draco’s stomach tingle. She looked as though they were friends. As though she were just another Muggle born witch telling her Pureblood friend about Muggle clothing. “I’ll try to find you some. The lot of you actually.”

“”Oh thank Merlin,” Neville said, interrupting. “I was about dying to ask for some more Muggle things. All the clothes I have are really obvious, according to Harry.”

“Well, he’s not wrong. You Wizard folk are quite daft when it comes to clothes.” The seventh year boy said, coming out of the showers with wet hair and a strange looking shirt on. “I thought it was preposterous when I found out that some of you don’t know what tanks are!”

“Oh who are you to speak? You wear that horrid poncho everywhere you go nowadays, Noah” Ginny Weasley said from where she sat on a bench closer to the side, tying up her laces in her shoes. 

“It’s  _ comfortable _ , Ginevra! Who are you to deny me that right?”  _ Noah  _ retorted. 

“It’s  _ scratchy _ .” Ginny said, scrunching up her face to show her dislike. “Anyway, I agree with ‘Mione and Nev. Malfoy, you ought to actually eat something for a change. The house elves aren’t working for nothing you know.” 

Draco, who had been tossing his head back and forth in attempts to keep up with the conversation was shocked to hear his surname come from the Weaslette’s mouth, but somehow quickly recovered. Or, tried to. “Erm, alright, I suppose.”

“It’s not really a “suppose” sort of topic, Draco,” Hermione said, approaching him with a formidable expression. “Food is a basic necessity.” She said matter-of-factly, not breaking eye contact. Draco, ever the coward, looked away first.

Sighing, he followed closely behind Hermione as she led the group out of the changing rooms. He supposed he was going to eat breakfast at an appropriate time.

~

There were many fine things about Hermione Granger, but one of the main things that made Draco admire her even more than he had just hours prior to their current situation was her ability to take any circumstance and flip it around until she was in control. This was precisely what was happening on the chilly Sunday afternoon after the Quidditch match. 

Potter had made the mistake of making a snarky remark under his breath about Draco, not bothering to pay attention to his surroundings. Draco had been sitting at a table in the library, and though he’d been with Luna and Neville in the beginning, they’d gone off somewhere else, leaving Draco by himself. Or so it seemed to Harry.

He didn’t see Hermione coming up to the table carrying textbook after textbook, all ranging from about five inches in depth to seven. He muttered the rude sentence quickly, walking away directly after, only to stop in his tracks and fall to the ground. Draco stood, wondering what could have possibly happened to the now stiff Harry Potter.

He balanced his fearful gaze from vexed-looking Hermione to rigid Potter. “‘M-Mione?” he whimpered, referring to the shorter girl by the nickname she’d allowed. “What- did you do this?”

Harry Potter lay firmly on the library ground, a cross expression filling his still face. He seemed to have been petrified, and for a moment Draco’s thoughts returned to their second year. He quickly came out of his mind when he heard the low mumble of Harry Potter's voice, and the ruffling noise from behind him as Hermione shuffled in front of him and pointed her wand threateningly at the curly-haired boy.

“Harry Potter, you absolute  _ prick _ ,” she accused, her voice seething. Potter mumbled something that Draco was quite sure meant “ _ unfreeze-me-Granger _ ” but he couldn’t be too sure, seeing as his face was smashed into the ground. “How absolutely  _ childish _ of you, making such remarks completely out of context and without reason!”

Draco thought Hermione sounded a bit like a scolding parent, and because of his history with scolding parents, he decided to take a caitiff step back and leave Hermione to deal with the situation she’d caused.

After quite a few uncomfortable minutes of her incessant banter, they were unfortunately graced with the blessing of Harry Potter’s almost fully abled body. Draco now, more than anything, wished the Weaslette or Neville Longbottom were in the room with him, because an angry looking Potter with murder in his eyes was never enjoyable.

It didn’t make matters any better that those deadly glares were aimed at him rather than Potter’s offender. Draco found himself backed into the table, cowering away from the duo. He was certain a duel was going to take place, and he could just imagine the spells that would come from their wands. He watched in fearful awe as Hermione never once let up at her scolding, and found himself silently wishing for her safety. He’d seen Potter do amazing things, dangerous things. And in his experience, angry people didn’t always keep their friendships in the forefront of their mind. 

Though at first glance Potter looked unphased by her aggressive admonition, anyone could see the slight falters in posture as she continued reprimanding him. This simple fact gave him a sense of relief, maybe a lion  _ could _ be tamed. 

He continued to watch as the two went back and forth, sighing in relief when a confused looking Neville followed by Luna Lovegood emerged from the bookshelves that shielded their small study space from the remainder of the library. 

“Hermione!” Neville exclaimed. “What the bloody hell is going on?” 

Longbottom’s gaze went to the rigidity looking Potter, who stood with stiff limbs as he returned Hermione’s yelling. As he went over to Potter’s slightly inflexible body, Luna Lovegood, who seemed not to have even noticed the commotion, busied herself with the books on the table behind Draco and Hermione. 

“This twat is going around making a fool of himself for no reason,” Hermione explained, her wand still pointing dangerously at Harry. Potter could be seen trying to grip his own wand, but he couldn’t seem to get his wrist to work in his favor. “It isn’t nice to bully people, Harry!”

“Bully?” Neville asked, trying to help Harry Potter to his feet. 

"Yes, a bully." Hermione said, starting to place her wand in her robe pocket but never ceasing to give Harry a look that could kill. 

Harry tried to say something to defend himself, but it still only came out a jumbled mess. "Check your attitude, Harry Potter."

“I-” Draco began, his lip quivering a bit. He no longer cared about the embarrassment tears brought. He deserved the uncomfortable feeling. He deserved it all. “I’m gonna go.”

“Draco,” Hermione called, reaching a reassuring arm out in front of her. Draco found himself wanting to go to her, to be engulfed in the motherly hug that she was so experienced at giving. But with Potter shooting daggers at him and the fact that it was only a matter of another few minutes before he got full function in his body back, he didn’t risk it. 

After all, you don’t risk things when you’re the target. It’s only asking for death. Then again, that was what Draco wanted, wasn’t it?

“I’ll see you in a bit, ‘Mione.” He said, turning and picking up his book bag from the table and making a beeline for the exit. He muttered a quick “Lovegood, Longbottom,” in passing and within a few seconds was out of the library panting in relief. 

~

Draco hadn’t seen Potter since that Sunday, and with the way things were going school-wise he hoped it stayed that way. Harry Potter’s lack of intrusion in his life meant less stress for him, and less stress for him meant actually getting his work done instead of subjecting himself to painful panic attacks that left him breathless and riddled with anxiety.

Classes had buckled down tremendously, leaving no room for error. Draco was determined to succeed, failure was no longer an option. He no longer had the Malfoy name to hide his mistake behind, he no longer had a one up on his peers because of his blood status. Draco was at the bottom of the food chain, and he was set on making it back to the top, without the help of his inheritance. 

Like the coward that he was, he clung to the backs of people stronger than him. These being Neville Longbottom, who was quite calm and in his free time talked rather adamantly about unique plant life, Luna Lovegood, who was trying ferociously to teach Draco how to crochet in their off periods, and Ginny Weasley, who he now referred to as such, though it was only because she threatened to hex him if he continued calling her “Weaslette.”

Hermione Granger, of course, was slowly growing to be one of his closest friends, though in the two weeks he’d gotten to know her he’d never once mentioned such facts. They were growing so close in fact, that Hermione had gone so far as to fall asleep on his shoulder during one of their late night study sessions, leaving Draco with a light, fluttery feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t quite explain. 

So close in fact, that Draco had entrusted Hermione in his secret new love of all things Muggle, which earned him fascinating tales of all the “boring” things Hermione had done on her summer holidays. So close in fact, that Hermione had whispered to him about her recent development with Ron Weasley while they sat on a common room couch writing annotations in their textbooks.

So close in fact, that Draco had felt it in himself to confide in her his growing fear of one of her best friends, Harry Potter, to which he got a loving side-hug and a reassuring smile and a promise that as long as he had Hemrione Granger by his side, he wouldn’t be hurt by Potter and his childish behaviour. 

“You shouldn’t have to promise to protect me, ‘Mione,” he whispered, stretching his feet out in the direction of the hearth in hopes of warming his toes just a bit. It was Friday night and the air was chilly, perfect weather for a snuggle near the fire. “I should be braver than this, I should be able to protect myself.” 

He closed his book over his lap, giving her a look that said “can we  _ please _ call it a night?” She sighed rentingly, rolling up the already three-foot parchment that her Transfiguration essay was on.

“Bravery has nothing to do with it,” she said quietly, placing her journals and books in her bag. “It’s about being stuck in your own head, which is exactly where Harry’s at.”

Draco thought it best not to argue with her, seeing as she was far too tired to argue logically. He would rather  _ not _ be yelled at when the sky was darker than his school robes. 

“I think he might be stressed,” Hermione said after a few moments in which the silence was filled with their ruffling about as they stuffed papers and quills into their bags with absolutely no organization. “With Teddy, and Mrs. Weasley, and everything in general.

“School hasn’t really been a calming spot for us, you know?” Draco nodded, he knew all too well. 

For a few moments, there was a strange and empty silence that filled the room, but just as Hermione said she thought it was about time to call it a night, a lovely thought struck his head. 

“Hermione?” She looked at him, confused as to why she was being called when she was nearly to the stairs. “Come here, I’d like to show you something.”

She sighed, placed her bag down at the foot of the steps and walked over to where he was leading her. They stopped at the round window with the thick sill and Draco smiled fondly to himself at Hermione’s confused glance.

“Go on,” he said, moving his hands in a shoo-ing motion. “Climb in.” He waited as she hesitantly climbed inside before crawling in right next to her.

“Are you familiar with the constellations, Hermione Granger?” He whispered, giving a child-like expression to the billions upon billions of floating, glowing gas that shined before him. Hermione gave him a fond expression, laughing quietly when she saw his amazed face.

“I am.”

“As am I,” he said airly, placing a palm to the cool glass. “As am I.”

“You're named after a constellation, though I’m sure you are well aware,” Hermione said, her eyes reflecting the tiny little lights as she stared up at them.

“I am, as is my mother. My whole family in fact.” Hermione smiled, and Draco returned the grin.

“When I was young, my mother told me that when we passed, we’d fly up to the stars and look down on all of our family.” Draco smiled, remembering the bedtime tale he’d been told in his adolescence. 

“It’s a silly fable, I know.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione said, her voice quiet and airy, reminding Draco of Luna Lovegood. “Imagine it. Being amongst the stars.”

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a bit of a fallout, and Harry gets a bit of a redemption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the lack of editing in part two after the "incident." as you know, ive been trying to post every thursday now, but i missed my own deadline due to stress! as an apology, i give thee a 6k chap that now takes up 15 pages in my google docs!

For Draco, October had come out of nowhere. His studies and panic attacks had caused September to fly by, leaving the new month to sneak up on him. He couldn’t say he hated it, though, because when situations were like the one Draco was facing, distractions were helpful. September’s quick passing hadn’t left without giving him anything either, for he entered Autumn time with a flexible schedule, grades that exceeded expectations, and hobbies that were completely unexpected for someone with his upbringing.

Not to mention friendship, because, over the month, he’d befriended quite a decent amount of people. People who didn’t mock him for his lack of wealth or blood status. People that he could laugh with, people that he could whisper in the dead of night to. People that he could be free around, show his interests to. People he could call friends, though he hadn’t actually had the courage to refer to them as such.

And Draco, as quiet and reserved and subtle as he’d become, could honestly and whole-heartedly say that September was a month to remember, truly a remarkable month indeed. He was grateful for its warm days to bask in the sun and clear nights to gaze at the stars, because they gave him wonderful memories to think about when he resorted to an embarrassing ball of whimpers and shameful tears, much like he was on October 2nd.

October 2nd had begun much too cold a Friday morning for Draco and had immediately caused his already annoyed morning mood to flourish. On top of that, his handmade sweater he’d gotten from Luna Lovegood was nowhere to be found, which only made the already grumpy Malfoy even more upset. By the time he reluctantly sat in his normal seat at the Eighth year table in the Great Hall, his angry expression was painted permanently on his face for all of the Wizarding World to see.

Shivering and irritated, he stuffed himself with quite an arrangement of unhealthy foods then stalked off from the table and into the Entrance Hall before Hermione could say anything about his attitude. 

For as long as Draco could remember, October had always been a  _ rough _ time for his family. His father was always tense and angry, and his mother always did her best to calm the man, but it was always to no avail. There wasn’t a single memory he could recall of a “happy” time in October, not until he’d gone to Hogwarts. And even then, his father would send him five-foot-long letters reminding him of all of his shortcomings.

He’d never truly understood  _ why _ things were the way they were; he’d just assumed his father wasn’t a fan of the month. It was only recently that year, in fact, when he realized the truth. Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord on October 31st, which caused immense panic and betrayal for the Death Eaters, of which his father was one.

Draco had been livid to know that Potter had been ruining his life before Draco had even met him, but now he could care less. In his mind, he deserved the pain the month brought, whether such pain was physical or emotional. He thought it a justified punishment for all of the pain he had caused to others. 

“Draco?” He stilled, his anger slowly diffusing. He’d expected Hermione to follow him, and he’d mentally prepared on what he would say. He could yell at Hermione; he could argue with her. He didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t do that to his pursuer: Luna. She didn't deserve it, she wouldn’t be able to take his anger, and she shouldn't have to.

Slowly, he faced her, examining her too blonde hair rather than looking her in the eye. “Are you alright?” She approached him quickly, causing him to flinch, but he allowed her hand to meet his arm, relishing in the warmth her touch brought.

“I’m fine,” he said softly, making sure not an ounce of anger seeped through his lies. He put his hand over hers and silently moved it off of his body, trying not to seem rude. “Just sleep-deprived.”

“Sleep deprivation makes people grumpy, didn’t you know?” She said sweetly, bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet. Despite being in her seventh year, Draco thought she looked much like a first-year on their first day of school, bouncing around and excited to meet everyone.

“Of course it does, I must have forgotten,” he humored. She smiled and nodded, seemingly proud of herself for solving Draco’s problem. 

“You and Harry are like that; you forget what makes you upset, and then you go on and do that thing and-” Luna shaped her hands into an explosion. “Boom, you’re upset, and you don’t know why.”

“I do know why,” Draco maneuvered his way to leaning his back on the brick wall next to him. 

“Of course you do, I just told you.” Draco nodded, not at all in the mood to argue with her. “Sleep deprivation also makes people forgetful.” 

“Is that why I forget to sleep at night?” He shrugged his shoulders, smirking a bit when he did so, remembering all the times his father had scolded him for using such “disrespectful” manners. “I suppose I’m lucky to have such a brilliant Ravenclaw to remind me of such things.”

“I feel like you’re just indulging me now,” Luna said quietly, messing with a piece of loose fabric on her robes. Draco straightened up from where he leaned on the wall and examined them with her, silently regarding the obviously handed down clothes. 

He wondered if she’d gotten them from Ginny, whom she’d stayed with over the summer because of the death of her father. He hadn’t yet had the courage, or the audacity, to ask how she was doing, already knowing the pain of being asked such personal questions so soon after a family tragedy. 

“It’s possible,” he said, trying his hardest to make his voice match the airiness Luna had trademarked in her own. 

“You sound like Harry,” Luna remarked, looking up at Draco through her eyelashes. But the usually adorable look did nothing to improve his unsteady attitude, and all too soon, he returned to his original state of unconstrained anger.

He refused to be like Potter, he would never be the Saviour, and he’d be damned if anyone accused him of such things. “I’ll be off Luna,” He said, confusing the poor girl with his sudden change in mood.

Before she could ask what was the matter, Draco walked down the hall, thanking Merlin and the gods above for its sudden fullness.

-

With Luna Lovegood’s ignorant comparison of Draco and The Chosen One, along with his failed Transfigurations mock exam due to his lack of focus, it wasn’t very difficult to say that Draco’s Friday hadn’t been the best. He was eager to cast all of his stress and anxiety aside for a small amount of free time outside in the cool breeze, reading his book, but just as he collected his things to go, the decent weather turned rather sour.

Draco grumbled under his breath as he made his way back to the Eighth year common room, not at all happy as he stared at the heavy rain that poured almost violently from behind the safety of the glass windows. He was grateful that he wasn’t soaked to the bone like a few of the students that ran through the Entrance Hall frantically waving their wands and chanting drying incantations.

He made his way to the common room, which took several minutes longer than it should have because the staircases were being quite antsy. As he placed his palm on the entrance wall, his heart skipped a beat as an anxious ensued thought crossed his mind. Where had Potter been doing his homework? 

Draco had yet to see him enter the library since that day when he’d been petrified by Hermione, and he knew for a fact that Potter was distancing himself from the girl because of that incident. 

If he were to walk into the common room, would he come face to face with Harry Potter himself? Was he subjecting himself to silent judgement by The Saviour and his weasel friend? 

He had half a mind to speed walk his way down to the library and profusely apologize to Hermione for his insolent and selfish behaviour and then beg her to allow him in her presence again, but he stopped himself before he could go through with the idea. Hermione didn’t want to be around him, and she probably hated him again. He’d had quite a few strong words to say to her and Neville when they’d asked why he was so upset, and he’d spoken without thinking his words through. He’d made a mistake and a big one at that. There was no way that Hermione would welcome him again, and if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be so soon.

So, he pushed his way through the wall and paused in the small hall that led into the common room, giving himself a moment to collect his bearings and properly prepare. He felt that he was overreacting, no, he  _ knew _ that he was, but he couldn't help it. All that he could do was breathe in deeply and consistently and hope that he didn’t reduce himself into a lump of anxiety and panic attacks.

_ Draco Malfoy, you are a failure. _ He took in a shaky breath and desperately tried to push the persistent thought out of his mind, but unfortunately, to no avail. 

His deep breaths did nothing to help his rising stress level, and he braced himself on the side of the hall, trying not to collapse onto the ground. His sight was starting to go splotchy, and he wasn’t fond of the dizzy feeling he was beginning to feel. His legs had a numb feeling, which was strange to Draco, seeing as his arms felt like they were buzzing, and they were quite visibly shaking. 

He was quite confused as to what was happening to him, seeing as he was perfectly fine just moments before. He managed to twist his body around, which was quite difficult because of the numbness in his legs, and he slid down to a seating position, back to the sidewall. He hunched himself over and tried to focus on his breathing, but it seemed the more that he did so, the harder it became.

His hands didn’t have anything to do, so they decided to pull on his hair, which only made his head hurt more than it already was. He squeezed his eyes closed, not enjoying the dark spots that flew through all around him. He didn’t know if they were real or not, but he didn’t want to give them any attention regardless. They only seemed to raise his anxiety.

The more he tried to stop pulling on his hair, the more his hands gripped the locks, and he let out a few whimpers of pain. Everything hurt, and Draco couldn’t do anything to stop it. He wanted to, truly he did, but he didn’t know how to make the pain cease. There were no thoughts of “deserving” the pain, no thoughts of “relishing” in the anguish of it all. He just wanted it to stop, he wanted the feelings to go away and the numbness to take over. He wanted to stop feeling like the failure his father always told him he was, he wanted to stop pretending to be the person that was innocent and happy. He just wanted it all to  _ stop _ .

He rubbed his face against his thighs, wiping the tears off of his face. He didn’t know when he started crying; he didn’t even know  _ why _ he was crying. He was fine, wasn’t he? He was fine. He had to be fine. 

_ I am fine _ . He whispered to himself, or he tried to, but the words came out a garbled mess. Despite that, he continued to whimper that phrase, determined that his repetitiveness would manifest the words into reality.

He was so, so wrong.

“Oi, Malfoy! What’re you-” Draco tensed up, wincing as his head pounded. Though he was as close as physically possible to the wall behind him, he pushed up against it a bit more, as if his force would make the wall conceal his vulnerable state. “Harry! Look at Malfoy, will you?”

Draco whimpered, not liking the feeling of being on display. He didn’t  _ want _ people to be looking at him; he hadn’t wanted that for quite some time. Being the centre of attention was at the very bottom of his list of wants.

“What’s going on with Malfoy this time?” Potter asked, walking into the small corridor. Draco couldn’t do anything but murmur his complaints. It seemed his body had tensed up so much that he was no longer in control of his own movements, resulting in a sort of sleep paralysis feeling. “Bloody hell! Have you done something to him?”

“ _ Me _ ?” Ron asked, flabbergasted at the accusation. “You think I would have touched that ferret?”

“To my mind, with your personal anger towards him, I dunno what you would do to him given the chance,” Potter said, crouching down to Draco’s level. Draco did nothing but inch back, not at all interested in having to converse with Harry Potter. 

“Merlin, Malfoy, what have you done?” Draco buried his head further into his arms, trying his hardest to get away despite not having full access to his limbs. His head ached more and more with each movement, and his eyesight had gone completely black. He felt like he was paralysed. He felt defenseless and exposed. 

He felt like he was hiding away in his bedroom after the Dark Lord had taken over his home. 

Maybe he wasn’t fine after all.

Potter put his hands on either side of Draco’s face and gently pulled it up so gently that Draco almost didn’t think it was Potter. His breath became more labored as his face was re-exposed to the dim light of the common room.

“What- Oi, Ron? Go on and get Hermione; maybe she can do something.”

“But- Hermione doesn’t like being bothered during her studies and-”

“Bloody hell, Ron! Something is  _ wrong _ with him; I don’t care what ‘Mione likes and doesn’t like.” Harry growled, grumbling as an annoyed Ron Weasley passed the duo and made his way out of the Eighth year common room.

“Now, what in God’s Earth have you gone and done to yourself? You look positively cowardly.” Draco grimaced at Harry’s insult, but he couldn’t do a thing about it. 

“Can you even hear me, Malfoy?” Harry asked, patting the side of Draco’s face a bit to get his attention. Slowly, and mostly because he was rather fed up with Harry Potter’s attitude, Draco managed to grumble out a small “yes” as well as nod a bit.

“Well then, what did you go and do? What’s wrong with you?” 

Harry’s words were strong and forceful, and in Draco’s impressionable state, quite condescending. He felt like a small boy being scolded. He felt like he was sixteen again, and desperately trying not to cry as Lord Voldemort reprimanded him.

It was rather strange how similar the Saviour was to the very man if you could even call the Dark Lord that he defeated. It definitely could have given Draco something to ponder about, something to procrastinate with, but his mind was rather busy fighting off the anxiety-riddled state he was in to think about such things for too long.

“I asked you a question, Malfoy,” Harry began sternly. By then, Draco had most definitely come to terms with the fact that he was very much not okay and very much in pain. He’d have thought that such things were noticeable, seeing as the Weasel had spotted something was off quite immediately. Then again, Potter had always been the oblivious type.

There was a bit of silence for a moment, allowing Potter just enough time and adjust his position, so that by the time Draco let out another pained whimper, Harry was sitting on his bottom and able to give him a reassuring pat. 

“I think I may know what’s wrong with you,” Harry said, dropping his voice to a whisper. Draco thought that was quite unnecessary, seeing as they were the only people in the common room. Then again, he guessed that people, especially Harry Potter, didn’t exactly want to be caught with Draco Malfoy. And upon further thought, Draco realized that he wasn’t all that interested in being seen at that moment, being comforted by The Saviour of the Wizarding World.

When Harry lifted his hand slightly, only to bring it softly back onto Draco’s cheek, Draco found himself remembering a time when he’d been in the exact same position. He had been eight-years-old at the time, found by his mother curled under the desk in his bedroom. Despite the fact that her new robes had the possibility of being wrinkled, she’d climbed her way under the desk too and held Draco’s face in her warm hands. Granted, her hands were much more loving and reassuring than Harry Potter’s, but Draco was quite grateful for them anyway. It gave him a bit of consolation. Not much, but just a bit. 

On that day - and he was certain it had been sometime in October, because most of his bad memories from before the age of eleven had happened in October - he’d been furiously scolded by his father, followed by a harsh and sudden slap to his face. Though the reason for the punishment had been all but forgotten in Draco’s mind, the feeling of being struck by his own father blared through his head. It was one of the most traumatic experiences in his young life, and though it wasn’t such a big deal in retrospect, it had been permanently engraved into his memories.

He thought of how his mother had caressed his cheeks and dried away his tears, promising that his father’s anger had been a one-time thing. Of course, she was wrong, but Draco had managed to forget that small detail as well. That slap had been the first of many, and by the time he was sixteen - just double the age he’d been the very first time - it was strange for him to  _ not _ have a slight bruise on his face during the summers when he was home at the Malfoy Manor.

He remembered the song that she’d sung to him, the one that she sang every time he’d hurt himself, and silently tried to replicate it in his mind as a way to ignore the harsh and quite unloving hand that belonged to Harry Potter. He cursed his eleven-year-old self when he couldn’t remember the ending of the tune, recalling how he’d stubbornly insisted that he was far too old for being sung to when he had come home from Hogwarts.

His thoughts of his mother were interrupted by heavy footsteps and the customary  _ whoosh _ from the entrance of the common room. Though his eyes were still forced shut, a familiar smell wafted by his nose and he recognized the new person as Hermione Granger.

That, and the hands of Harry Potter, were quickly removed from his face, and the curly-haired boy was replaced by his newly acquired friend. He heard slightly frantic incantations and grew a bit nervous before a fresh breath of relief washed over him, and he felt like he could breathe properly again without his lungs feeling like they would cave into themselves.

Slowly, he parted his eyelids and peaked out, taking in a sharp breath when his eyes met Hermione’s. “Are you alright, Draco?” She asked, but to Draco, her words echoed in his mind.

He tried to nod, but something stopped him. Whether it was the obvious fact that he was lying to Hermione’s face or that his head was too numb and achy to make any sort of movement, he didn’t know.

“Harry, he needs to go to the hospital wing, take him to Madam Pomfrey?” 

Draco could hear the way Potter began pacing the small space he stood in and knew the boy was having an internal struggle on whether or not to accept the offer that wasn’t really an offer. He had to admit; he wasn’t at all interested in the Chosen One taking him to the hospital wing anyway. It would only make him appear weaker than he already did, and that was definitely at the very bottom of his lists of wants. 

“Erm,  _ Hermione _ , he seems fine, what with that spell you-” Harry stopped suddenly, and Draco assumed Hermione had shot him a terrifying glare. Though his eyes were able to open again, with quite some difficulty, he let them remain shut, and focused heavily on his shallow breathing. His lungs still hurt with every breath, and Draco was quite tempted to stop breathing altogether, just to make the pain go away for a moment. 

“Fine, of course, ‘Mione,” Harry said, sighing dejectedly. “Get up, Malfoy, let’s get-”

“Harry!”

“What do you want me to do?” Harry asked, and Draco winced at both Hermione’s and Harry’s sudden loudness. His breathing became harder to focus on, and a few tears slipped from his clenched eyes as he tried not to pay attention to the stabbing pain in his lungs.

“Pick him up, and take him to the hospital wing!”

“ _ Pick up _ the ferret? ‘Mione, what are you on-” Ron stopped just as suddenly as Harry and Draco was certain that Hermione was practicing her “Headmistress McGonagall glare.”

“Use a levitation or lightning spell and take the poor boy to Madam Pomfrey, you absolute pricks!”

“P-please, Hermione,” Draco gritted out, each high-pitched scolding that came from her mouth made him flinch and resulted in more painful breathing. He was certain there was a tiny army inside of his chest, stabbing him left and right. Hermione gasped and quickly put a gentle hand on his shoulder and rubbed tiny circles, successfully calming Draco and his accelerating breaths.

“Harry,  _ please _ . Something is wrong with him and-”

“Alright, alright, Hermione, of course.”

All too suddenly, Draco felt himself being lifted off the ground and he began to flail around before Potter’s arms firmly stopped him. His eyes flew open and he stared at the boy with a strange look on his face. When his cheeks grew hot, he averted his stare and blamed the strange interaction on his nerves. Potter had an arm under the crook of his leg and another on the middle of his back. The position, although his lightness from the spell took away a bit of the pain, hurt like  _ hell _ .

“Alright, Malfoy. Let’s-” Harry took in a deep breath and readjusted their position, earning a pained hiss from Draco and an angry outburst from Hermione. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, clicking his teeth. “Let’s go.”

Draco took in a deep breath and held it as Harry began walking, not even able to acknowledge Neville and Luna as they passed them. With every step that Harry took, another burst of pain erupted in his chest. 

He didn't know how far they’d walked before his eyesight gave way to the darkness again, and he didn’t care to know. When unconsciousness overrode his want to be awake, he welcomed it. 

-

Draco was in such a state of serenity and peacefulness that he didn't realize he was awake until Madam Pomfrey shuffled her way over to his side table and ordered him to swallow the potion she had in her hand. It took the boy quite a few moments to collect himself fully before he properly understood her request, and he silently held his hand out to take the bottle of healing potion from her. He'd attempted to sit up right, but he was immediately pushed back down onto his pillows by Madam Pomfrey, and promptly scolded the whole time he forced the vile liquid down his throat.

When he finished, he handed the vial to the woman and continued lying down at her command. Placing a hand over his chest and feeling the unsteady beat of his heart only made him more inclined to follow her rules. He had half a mind to ask her what happened, seeing as he really couldn't remember much of anything that happened after his last class, but with her stern glance after he'd tried to say something, he quickly shut his mouth. 

It was quite a few minutes later, with maybe a few light dozes in between, when he finally got the courage to call out for the nurse, growing a bit sheepish when she rushed over, a harsh look on her face.

"Madam Pomfrey?" He began shifting a bit as he tried to find a comfortable position. "Can I ask why I'm here?" 

The woman huffed, but a fond look overcame her face. "You don't recall?"

"N-no ma'am?" He said, wondering if he should know. Obviously, whatever had occurred was drastic enough to land him in the hospital wing. He strained his mind for a moment, trying to think of any small factor that could explain his situation, but nothing came to mind. 

The day had started off strange and upsetting, not to mention even a bit confusing. But that was normal, at least to Draco. The month of October had always been difficult times for him, the Malfoy family in general. 

He'd given a bit of hostility to Hermione Granger, but he'd promised himself he'd apologize that evening. Could that be what happened? Had he gone to apologize only to be hexed to unconsciousness by an angry Granger? Had he messed up so badly that morning that Hermione no longer wanted to befriend him, no longer wanted to have anything to do with him?

Had he lost yet another person he could call a friend, without even remembering how it happened? 

"You fell victim to a harsh attack of anxiety," she said, an irritated drawl lined her voice. Draco thought it was directed at him, but judging by her next sentence, it most certainly was not. "These blasted professors are working you lot too hard. Especially you Eighth years. They act as if they don't remember what happened just this year!" She cleared her throat and gave him an apologetic look after seeing his startled face. 

He sighed and looked away, still thinking of what he could have possibly done. He highly doubted he'd forgotten everything that occurred after school hours just because of stress, that seemed simply, well for lack of better words, weak. 

"I take it your memory has yet to return?" 

Draco shook his head and the woman nodded. He wished he could remember what happened, exactly what happened, so that he could know if he'd ruined his chances at friendship completely, or if his morning time actions had nothing to do with his lack of memory.

There was a beat of silence in which Madam Pomfrey bid him goodbye and ordered him to call out if he needed anything at all. He complied, if only to make her at ease, and allowed his mind to become lost in thought. 

It felt like minutes but really, it had been hours when he finally snapped out of his thoughts, this time by someone quite unexpected. Harry Potter towered over him looking rather concerned.

By then, a lot of his memories had flooded back to him, but most were just the moments of his panic attacks. The outer experiences were quite a blur, and most were just sporadic words that he had recalled. A lot of the things he remembered were how he'd felt, the pain and the darkness and the fear. Just remembering was raising his blood pressure, and he was happy for the distraction, no matter how unfortunate said distraction was.

Draco focused his vision on the boy, shaking his head as the image became clear. Potter’s face furrowed a bit more but upon seeing Draco’s now alert self, he sat on the visiting chair next to the hospital bed Draco was laying on.

Confused, Draco stared at the boy, sending him a silent question with his eyes:  _ what the bloody hell are you doing here, Potter? _

It seemed Harry had in fact become rather skilled at occlumency, because his question was answered rather immediately. “Hermione is down in the kitchens with Ernie MacMillan. They’re getting you some food.”

It didn’t explain why Potter himself was sitting on Draco’s visiting chair, but with his already raspy voice and sore throat, Draco assumed it was from crying but he couldn’t exactly remember, he was in no position to ask anything.

“She sent me down to make sure you were awake. Apparently you weren’t earlier.” 

_ Well, I’m awake, Potter. You can leave now. _

“How’ve you been holding up?”

Draco nodded his head and tried to figure out why on earth Harry Potter cared about his mental and physical state. But it seemed that was just what Potter did, it was his hero complex. 

“Madam Pomfrey says you aren’t remembering anything? I didn’t think that was a big deal, but Hermione seems to think it is, so…” Potter trailed, trying to find the proper words to say. He ran a hand through his nest of a head of hair and exhaled boredly. “So, are you remembering anything?”

Nodding, Draco tried to clear his throat but found it much too painful to do so. He wondered what it was that Madam Pomfrey had given him that cleared his trachea without an ounce of pain, and he thought maybe if he asked pitifully enough she’d give him a bit more.

“That’s good, I suppose,” Harry said awkwardly. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, and rather than look away like he had Madam Pomfrey, he thought this time would have been a bit rude to do so. So he continued staring in Potter’s general direction, hoping that the boy would say something,  _ anything _ .

No such thing happened, and the most Draco got was a random sigh a few minutes later. Harry adjusted his position to where his elbows rested on his knees, and his hands held his chin up. He looked down and shook his head absentmindedly, allowing his curls to dance around his eyes. 

Draco snickered at the sight, turning his head away to hide his smile. Harry looked up, an amused look on his face replaced the bored one that had been there. “Oi! What’re pulling at?”

“N-nothing!” Draco croaked defensively. He settled on a light smile and stared at Harry. “It’s uhm, it’s  _ rude _ to play with your hair in front of the company.”

“I don’t see any company, Malfoy. Just you, in a rather…  _ pitiful _ state.”

“Oi!”

Harry laughed at his joke and Draco, not nearly as immune to laughter and happiness as he thought he was, joined in a few moments later, properly hurting his throat. He found he could care less, and that this first real laugh he’d had since the beginning of the second war was far more worth it than a bit of throat pain.

“That’s not funny, you twit!” Draco said, clutching his neck with a cheerful smile on his face.

“Why, Mister Malfoy, that isn’t good manners, now is it?” Harry said in a mocking voice. Draco rolled his eyes and shuffled in his bed, thinking it best to sit up now even though it was evident he wasn’t nearly as healed up as he could’ve been.

“What do you know about bloody manners, Potter?” Draco smirked, perfectly hiding his wince when he took in a too deep breath. “Everyone knows  _ Saviour’s _ such as yourself haven’t got an ounce of manners in them.”

“I’ve got manners, Malfoy!” 

“Really, now? Where were they a few Sundays ago?”

“Alright, fair,” Harry said, looking away from Draco and his apparently contagious giggle. Draco allowed himself to calm down and as he did so, he took a few shaky breaths and tried to collect his thoughts. The vibrations from his laughter had really raddled his throat, but other than that, it felt good to joke and chuckle about something. He’d never even gotten that opportunity with Hermione and the rest of them, the only thing coming close was when Ginny Weasley had threatened to hex him if he continued with his calling her “Weaslette.” Though, truly, that hadn’t counted very much at all, seeing as his laughter was forced and quite obviously hiding his fear.

He relaxed and settled on a content expression. “Alright then, Potter. You’ve done your job and you’ve had a laugh, I’m guessing you’re good to go.”

Harry gave a strange sort of laugh and stood awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as his mouth opened and closed. Draco assumed the boy was trying to think of something to say, but for the life of him, Draco couldn’t understand what more there was to say.

“Erm, I-” Potter sat down again and rubbed his palms on his thighs. Draco decided to focus on something else rather than Potter and his struggle for words, but his eyes betrayed him and he found himself looking at the trousers Potter had chosen to wear. They were most certainly not something a Wizard would wear, and he settled on the idea that they were probably Muggle. “Truth is, ‘Mione  _ didn’t _ ask me to see you, but she- erm, she  _ is _ getting you some food with Ernie down in the kitchens. You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. She thought it would be good to get some food in you. She figured you might be a bit… a bit raddled from yesterday and-”

Draco held up a hand and leaned back onto his elbow, tired from the energy it had taken to sit up that long and Potter’s excessive and quite unnecessary word vomit. 

“Sorry.” He said, running a hand through his hair again. Draco thought he moved too much, was it really that difficult to sit still when one was talking to someone?

Draco nodded his silent forgiveness. As the silence overtook their conversation again, he couldn’t help but go over Potter’s rambling in his head. He’d slept quite a bit it seemed, the sun shining from the windows told him it was rather late in the afternoon, meaning that he’d gone 24 hours without eating food.

But he was relieved that his theory of losing Hermione had been debunked, relieved that he still had the chance to apologize for his actions. 

“Do you, do you remember yesterday?” 

“No.” Draco said honestly. Though he wasn’t fond of not remembering things, he now knew that nothing drastic had happened. 

“Do you, do you want to?”

“You have quite the stuttering problem, did you know that, Potter?” Harry spluttered at Draco’s response.

“S-sorry?” he asked, not helping to disprove Draco’s remark in his speech.

Draco laughed cheekily and shook his head, dismissing his statement. “Never mind that, to answer your question, I don’t know.”

“Really?” Harry asked, recovering quickly and putting a sly smile across his face. “I thought you Malfoy’s knew everything?” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” There was a brief silence in which Draco put on a serious face and stared at Harry right in the eyes. “Just, I didn’t  _ say _ anything, did I?”

“No,” Harry said, relieving Draco tremendously. “You didn’t really, you didn’t really talk.”

Draco sighed and allowed his head to fall back onto his pillows. “Why do you reckon it happened?”

“What happened?”

“Your… well, your episode.”

“My… my  _ episode _ ?”

“Erm,” Harry looked pinned in between answering Draco’s question and saving the blond from the obvious embarrassment, which only stressed Draco more. 

“Curse me and my fear of Octobers,” Draco muttered, his mind forgetting his company and the thoughts of his forgotten embarrassing moments just the night before overtook him. 

“F-fear of Octobers?” Harry said, buckling over. Draco, offended, gave him a crazed look. Was Potter  _ laughing _ at him?

Draco scoffed and turned away, as stupid and childish as it was, he was a bit hurt that this oh-so-good Saviour of the Wizarding World, was laughing at something he was quite insecure about. Huffing, he sniffed his nose and tried to pretend he wasn’t upset about what had just happened. After all, he was a man. 

And just like his father had taught him, men don’t cry.

_ But, Merlin, I want to. _

“Malfoy?” Harry asked through his giggles, which only made the tears that Draco fought to hold back more prominent. “Malfoy, what- Did I say something?”

“Leave me alone, Potter.”

“I- what?” Harry stopped, sensing the change of energy in the room. “Look, I-” 

“You can go now, Potter, I don’t think Hermione wants you near me as it is, and I’d be careful around her. She has a mean arm.”

“Look, Malfoy. I-” He took in a deep breath and stood up, walking over to the hospital bed and placing his hand on the bed, hoping the pressure change of the mattress would make Draco look at him again. 

“Last night, I- The only reason I did what I did is because, well, I don’t know what I would have done if Hermione and Ron hadn’t helped me when I was going through a moment of panic. 

“I know I wasn’t the best about it, but I know physical touch is helpful for the brain to decipher what’s real and what isn’t and- Malfoy?”

“It’s rude to mock people, Potter.”

“I’m not mocking you! I just, I thought you were  _ joking _ , Malfoy. Forgive me for thinking the great Draco Lucius Malfoy wasn’t afraid of anything. Honest, I didn’t mean to-”

“Harry?” Hermione Granger appeared from behind the drawn hospital curtain, a large plate of food in hand a bewildered expression lining her face. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s leaving actually, came to check on me is all.” Draco answered before Harry could open his mouth. He had to admit, he could be rather petty when he needed to be, and though this wasn’t a moment of  _ need _ per se, it was definitely a moment of  _ needing _ Potter to be out of his presence before he did or said something he regretted. 

“RIght.” Potter said stiffly, standing from his chair and motioning for Hermione to sit down. She did so gratefully, though her look of confusion had yet to leave her face. “Bye, ‘Mione. See you.”

As he began to duck through the hospital curtain Hermione stopped him rather crossly. “So you came to  _ check on him _ -” she made quotations with her fingers and tossed her glance between both boys. “But you can’t bother to say goodbye?” 

“Oh! Erm, goodbye, Malfoy.” Harry said awkwardly, earning eye rolls from both parties. When he was done, Hermione gently placed the plate of food atop Draco’s bedside table and encouraged him to eat, sitting down onto the chair that moments before held none other than Harry James Potter.

She pulled out a book and after showing no signs of wanting to conversate, Draco picked up his fork and began eating, happy to have a chance to fill his aching stomach. 

“You didn’t seem pleased with Harry’s company,” Hermione said a few moments after he finished the massive amount of food she’d given him. He was thankful that the plate hadn’t been self-refillable, because he most certainly would have stuffed himself to the brim. Instead, he’d had just enough food to fill him properly, without feeling like an over-blown balloon.

“Wasn’t,” he said, fully aware of his “rude” way of speaking. He wondered if his father were there, would the man scold him in front of company? Or would he wait until they were out of the presence of even his mother before punishing him senseless. The thought scared him, but he knew it was an appropriate thing to consider. Though  _ beating _ Draco wasn’t necessarily a part of the family’s schedule, it most certainly wasn’t ruled out in October. Yet another reason to be cautious around this time of the year. “I was a bit at the beginning but-”

“But Harry was being Harry?”

“Something like that,” he conceded. 

“I’m sorry about him, he’s just. Well, he’s probably grieving. I think we all are. In our own ways.”

“I’m sorry about me, I just interrupt all of this,” he paused, trying to figure out how to best phrase the remainder of his sentence. “This  _ grieving _ .”

“It’s not really a distraction when you’ve nothing to grieve.” Draco whipped his head up at Hermione, what did she mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it to then end, thank you. and idk if you guys know this but im quite self conscious about my dialogue so if you could ignore the horridness you just read, it'd be great lol. next weeks fic chap will probably be a bit postponed seeing as this weekend is my birthday and i might not be able to work on it. 
> 
> however, as a birthday gift from me to you, i will be posting a special list of "Weird" Things That Draco Malfoy Does Now That He's Trying To Change on November 15th. Thank you for your kind comments and messages whether through tumblr or comments. they mean so much to me!
> 
> (("Weird" Things That Draco Malfoy Does Now That He's Trying To Change is a thing i wrote a few months ago when i was brainstorming for this fic, so i apologize if it isn't,,,, good? i might update it a bit so it'll be top tier for yall tho! ily!!!))


	11. Things Draco Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is not an early update, but instead a strange list of things me and my friend ( @skioldpaddastark on tumblr ) composed a few weeks/months ago. I hope you guys like it as i hope to incorporate each and every one of these into the fic

  * I think after a few months of establishing his friendships with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger, he took a few key hobbies from each of them. Hermione and his “thing” could be casting a silencing spell around them and then blasting classical music, whereas Neville and Draco’s “thing” could be geeking over the amount of a specific potion to grow the biggest magical plant, whatever that plant may be. But the most memorable thing, and something he did even without the company of the person who introduced him to the hobby, was crocheting. Luna Lovegood had introduced him to the pass time, and though he could only crochet with his fingers, he was quite proud of his work. He didn’t understand how to work and use the crochet needles, despite how much Luna had taken the time to explain, but his work didn't look half bad as time went on.



  * Though Hermione was one of the only muggleborns he personally knew, or cared to know, she was not the reason why he fell in love with what the muggles called “classics.” He spends every moment he can in Hogsmeade searching for more, because apparently he can’t get enough of them. To Draco, everything was so simple and perfect in the books, and he longed that he could be thrust into that world every moment he spent reading the words.



  * He discovered on a break from studying that the clouds were absolutely gorgeous and he became instantly obsessed with the way they moved. They looked so _weird_ as they crossed each other, and he was positively mesmerized by them. He may have spent a few late nights reading library books about all the different types he could possibly find. (The first time he rode in a car, he gave almost zero attention to the other passengers until it was too dark to see the clouds.)



  * When he was younger, his mother forced him to learn the violin, and he hated every minute of it. But one night as he was walking from Professor McGonagall’s office, he saw The Room of Requirement decided on an exhausted whim to go inside. He’s been playing the cello ever since, and he’d like to say he’d gotten pretty good.



  * He found one afternoon of overwhelming boredom that he quite enjoyed drawing, although he seemed horrible at it. That all changed when Harry started inviting him to quidditch practice, it seemed his best work was done when he was drawing scenery. He stopped making so many unerasable mistakes when he was drawing the quidditch pitch Harry was in, or the forest right before sunset.



  * The first time he’d ever danced was when he was nine-years-old and it was with a family friend who was quite ugly in his opinion. He told his father so after the party and he wasn’t allowed to go to another one for quite some time. The second time was at the Triwizard tournament with his date, although he didn’t remember it very well. The third time was in the living room at the Burrow with Luna Lovegood during Christmas break. He stepped on her toes nearly a million times, but each time she giggled and restarted, and each time they did, he got a bit better.



This may or may not be things that happen in future chapters, so, if you like these, pls tell me? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love you guys lots!! see you this thursday hopefully


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy has never had the best experience with the month of October, and this one is no different. However, there can be a few good things, like the prospect of a new friendship. An unlikely one, sure, but a friendship nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Right now, it is 6:55pm on Christmas Eve, but I know for a few of you, Christmas Day has already arrived. If you don't celebrate Christmas, my apologies and Happy Holidays! I hope you're able to enjoy your break, if you're getting one! I apologize for my unreasonably long hiatus, but I think I'm finally back! Please enjoy this chapter, and tell me what you think about it!
> 
> Also! The very last scene isn't as edited as everything else because I didn't want to bother my beta, so I apologize if it doesn't... feel like everything else!

Draco’s brief moment of weakness had begun a strange and rather unlikely friendship between him and Harry Potter. A friendship that consisted of offhanded insults that almost always left either boy feeling some sense of self hatred and confusing conversations that were never solved due to extreme lack of communication. But a friendship nonetheless. 

Hermione had insisted Draco stay the rest of the weekend in the hospital wing, completely isolated from all people besides her and the occasional Neville Longbottom or Luna Lovegood. He’d subjected himself to stiff and rather infrequent bursts of sleep and awkward-to-write-in positions as he completed assignment after assignment. Overall, he supposed it wasn’t too bad. He had plenty of time to complete his classwork, without distractions. 

However this arrangement offered a unique proposition. This being: Harry Potter seemed keen on visiting him and checking on his progress. Though he’d stayed less than 48 hours, Draco had found Potter in his visiting seat more times than was probably normal. 

Like the petty wizard reshe was, Draco had no interest in actually speaking to the boy the first few times, and he’d enjoyed the way Potter squirmed in the awkward silence until it became too much and he left again. He would continue his persistent studies and smile to himself at the thought that he, Draco Malfoy, had made Harry Potter nervous. But eventually, around Potter’s fifth or sixth visit, Draco had decided to question his actions. It didn’t seem right that he’d _just_ be checking on him, and he had a feeling there were some interior motives. But when he finally pressed, Potter insisted that he only wanted to make sure he was alright, and upon Draco’s answer he left, only returning once or twice. 

When he’d returned to class the following Monday morning, Potter hadn’t acknowledged their meetings nor anything Draco had said Saturday. He’d simply given a nod of his head and continued working with Ron Weasley, while Draco split his partnership with Neville and Hermione. He was grateful for the silence, but he was suspicious nonetheless, feeling as though at least someone had been told. There was no way Potter could keep a secret, Gryffindors were shit at such things. At least that’s what he told himself, because really, he only wanted a reason to be cross with the curly-haired boy. 

However, things had changed that Friday, because Harry had taken the extra mile to ask Draco for Potions work help, and begrudgingly as well as cautiously, as if Potter would spontaneously decide to hex him into oblivion, Draco agreed to explain how to apply the ingredients to the potion Potter needed help brewing.

They didn’t talk much, but Potter had thanked Draco for his help and bid him goodnight, and Draco had done the same. 

Saturday morning, however, was when things officially set into motion. Harry Potter, ever obnoxious and in someone’s business, had made sure to wake up bright and early and waltz himself down the stairs to stand right in front of Draco’s designated sleeping spot. It seemed he was quite interested in why Draco Lucius Malfoy, the purest pureblood he claimed to have ever met, was so intrigued in reading Muggle classics by starlight. Draco had stared at him for a good few moments, wondering what had come over him that he thought it acceptable to wake Draco out of his slumber to ask such questions, before answering in reluctant earnestness.

“But-” Harry had said, trying to start a conversation. “Classics are boring.” Draco, still struggling to wake himself up properly, looked offended. 

“How would you know, Potter?” Draco asked, voice hostile and defensive. _He_ enjoyed the books, and he didn’t think they were boring. He thought they were exciting and exhilarating, and he thought each chapter brought a new adventure. “I doubt you’ve ever had the brain capacity to read such things.”

“You don’t think I’ve read them?”

“No.”

“Well, I have. I’m practically Muggleborn, remember? I had to experience Muggle life for nearly 17 years.”

“So you’ve read them?” Draco asked with a hint of resentment and disbelief, though in his mind he was sitting at the edge of his seat. 

“Unfortunately,” Draco thought that was a rather off putting answer, but nevertheless, he picked up his book and placed it on his lap, looking up at Potter with interest. If he’d at least read them, well, that was enough for Draco. “That one, no. Though I’ve heard Mr. Darcy was quite the prick.”

A bit offended, seeing as Draco had a strange and unusual liking for Mr. Darcy, Draco placed a possessive hand over the cover and caressed it with his thumb. “I think that could be said about even the best of us.”

“Implying something, Malfoy?”

“Of course not, _Saviour_.” Draco replied, but he made sure that his smirk was quite prominent on his face.

“Hmm, well then. Forgive me for not believing you.” Harry said, and he rolled his eyes jokingly. 

“Of course, Saviour.”

“I think I prefer ‘Potter,” Malfoy.”

“Too bad, Saviour.” And Draco laughed, a good hearty laugh, that for a moment cast aside the heavy weight of remembrance that he always packed during the October month. Harry smiled and Draco laughed and for a moment, all was well in the Eighth year common room. 

Just for a moment.

\---

Sunday afternoon was the third time Draco was imposed by Potter’s presence. This time, it was in the Hogwarts library rather than the Eighth year common room. Draco was working adamantly on an assignment from his Transfiguration class, trying to perfect it. Harry had approached his table in the far back corner claiming to be working on spells for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Why do you need the library if you’re only working on spells?” Draco asked disbelievingly, though in truth, he was quite happy to have an excuse to break away from his time-consuming essay.

“Strategies,: Harry said, as though it were the most normal word in the world. “These books are quite helpful, who would have known?”

“Yes, I suppose that _is_ their purpose.” Draco replied, giving Harry a pointed look. Of course the Hogwarts library books were helpful, if they weren’t, there’d be no point in them being there. 

“Well, you can understand why I never knew that.”

“Because you let Hermione Granger do all of your work?” Draco bit back a smirk and waited patiently for Harry’s response. Of course, perfect little Potter had never moved a finger to do his work. It was just like him.

“Because I was rather busy saving the Wizarding World’s arse, I’d say.” _Oh_ , Draco thought.

“Such language doesn’t belong in the library, Potter.” Draco said playfully. He shook off his thoughts and simply allowed himself to be distracted by the playful banter they so easily assumed when they spoke to each other. Though he supposed he might have enjoyed a normal conversation every once in a while, it had only been a week since they began actually speaking to one another rather than shooting glares and insults. He had to admit, it was much better than having Harry whisper horrible things in his ears and snickering away.

“Of course, I wouldn't want to ruin your pristine pureblooded ears, now would I?” Harry replied haughty in a mock apology.

“No you wouldn’t,” Draco said with a bit less enthusiasm than before, hoping this conversation wouldn’t take a turn for the worst. When purebloods were mentioned, offensive and cruel things came from the mouths of those who were speaking on them. That was just the way things were, the talk of the times. Draco didn’t think _all_ purebloods deserved the treatment, but he supposed _he_ did. “It’s all I’m good for now.” 

Draco hid his smile, hoping Harry would take the bait.

“Your pristine ears?”

“My pristine- _ness_ in general,” Said Draco cheekily.

“Ah, I see.” Harry laughed and threw his hands out in front of him, spreading them wide as though he were broadcasting something. “Pristine Purebloods!” He dropped his arms and gave Draco a look, a look that made the blond feel as though he were in on a secret. One Harry had told just him. “Sounds like a sob story article written by Rita Skeeter.”

Draco groaned and let out a small chuckle, not wanting to admit the humor in the sentence. “And I suppose it would be about all of the purebloods that didn’t deserve the cruel treatment I brought upon them?”

“Oh, you twit. You don’t get to take credit of my obvious victory!” Harry laughed and Draco jumped when the boy's hand slammed down onto the table. Draco wasn’t fond of Harry Potter’s laugh, he never had been. When he was younger, it had been because Draco wanted to be in on whatever funny secret Harry had been laughing at. But now, as an eighteen-year-old, he resented it for its boastfulness. It’s resemblance to the one of Lucius Malfoy. The man who always laughed at the dispense of others, namely Draco.

Nevertheless, he didn’t say anything. Better to not dwell on the happenings of previous years, of previous Octobers. Better to focus on the now, and on getting better, being a better and more empathetic member of society. Better to focus on being seen as _normal_ rather than someone who lived in the past. 

_Better to be seen as Draco than as Malfoy_. 

“Your victory! I’m the pureblood here!”

“And I’m the one who stopped Voldemort, a _pureblood_.” 

“I still don’t think it counts.”

“Agree to disagree, I suppose.” Harry said, standing up. Draco stood too, not at all interested in allowing Harry Potter of all people to get the last word. 

“Absolutely not, we’re not done with this conversation.”

“Sorry Mr. Pureblood, but I do believe we are.” And like that, Potter had apparated out of the library. Draco shook his head and stared with a puzzled look at the spot Potter had just vanished from. _You can’t apparate in school_ , he reminded himself. He decided that Potter had just left out of the doors, and he turned around again, cursing himself for allowing Harry the last word of the argument.

\---

“Oi, Malfoy, I’ve a question!” Draco groaned, struggling to decide if he should speed up and emerge himself in the sea of clammy bodies and rough robes or slow down and allow Potter to catch up to him and ask his question.

It seemed a decision wouldn’t be necessary when Harry Potter answered it for him, stopping Draco immediately with a rough hand on his bony shoulder and a slight tug that turned him around completely. “I’ve a question,” he whispered a bit, which Draco thought was simply odd, seeing as he had absolutely no problem yelling to the rooftops moments before.

“What is it, Potter?” Draco attempted a sneer, but it was a bust. He was already too distracted to have the energy to sneer at anyone. It was the middle of October and he was worn down from the constant stress of assignments and exams and memories that threatened to emerge at any given moment. He could quite honestly say that he was in no mood to conversate with anyone, in fact, he was in no mood to even lift a finger. He was so overcome with stress that even his fascinating Muggle books that filled him with seemingly endless joy weren’t enough to lift his spirits.

But something he’d found out over the two weeks he’d allowed his slight friendship with Potter manifest was that the boy didn't take lightly to being ignored. A fact known to Draco Malfoy and Draco Malfoy only, or so it seemed, was that Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, was a huge baby that didn’t enjoy being looked over.

So his small hope of simply saying nothing and walking away from the curly-haired boy was immediately cast aside by the ever growing hatred of making people, even a person he once called his worst enemy, sad and left out.

“I was just wondering if you were alright,” Harry said simply, and Draco noticed he’d taken to bouncing slightly on his feet. To Draco, it created an energy of always being alert, and he assumed it was a token of the war. A small and seemingly irrelevant outcome that he knew deep down was something that had the ability to drive Potter into a hole of constant worry. But perhaps it was just a sign that Harry was wanting to go quickly to his class. Get his question answered and zip away, leaving Draco in a cloud of comforting dust. 

“I’m fine, Potter.” He kept his answer short, just in case his latter thought was the correct one and Harry was in a rush, but it only earned him a confused look.

“That didn’t really sound like you’re fine.” 

“Brilliant observation, but I’m afraid to say you're wrong.” Draco said stiffly, and he placed a hand to his left side, where his books usually lay. Despite his depressed mood, the Muggle treasures gave him a lovely sense of comfort. 

“But, you are.” Harry said, and Draco thought his voice sounded a bit whiny. A bit like he wanted to get his way, which Draco assumed was typical Saviour of The Wizarding World behaviour. “Hermione’s told me so.” Harry slowly moved their tiny group of two to the side of the hall, but Draco was unable to so much as glare due to his current thoughts on why Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were conversing on _his_ well-being.

“Granger is under no obligation to tell you my business, Potter” Draco began. “And you’ve no right in asking, which is probably exactly what you did.” Harry backed a bit, put off at Draco’s sudden lecture, but he recovered and stepped up, clearing his throat and attempting to start again.

“Well, _actually_ -”

“Excuse me, Potter. But I don’t really need you blithering Gryffindors in my business, it’s rather unpleasant.” Draco strained, beginning to turn on his heel. 

“Wait! _Draco_ I-” He stopped suddenly when Draco turned rather abruptly back to look at him but pursued, trying to come off as a calm type that Draco knew he most definitely was not. “I think- I think she was just a bit worried. And-”

“And so she confided _my_ problems into _you?_ Do you truly think of yourself that high? To where _Hermione bloody Granger_ would talk about my well-being with you. Now I’m _certain_ you’ve gone daft. You’re a _liar_ , you Gryffindor mutt.”

“Oi!” Harry said, and Draco felt rather smug at his string of insults, though deep down he wished they hadn’t been said. The ruder and more unkind he was in the day time, the more his nightmares would haunt him at night, reminding him of all the reasons why he, being not only a Malfoy, but _Draco_ in general, didn’t deserve to feel happiness in any shape or form. “Are you mad at me?”

Draco scoffed in complete disbelief that after all that had just been said, _that_ was the question that left the mouth of The Chosen One. He held his breath for a moment, both in fear that he might say something sudden and abrupt and probably untrue and in deep thought as he decided how exactly to answer.

“No,” he said, sighing at the answer he’d settled on. “Well, I suppose I don’t know.” He felt that was a better answer, but he also didn’t like the fact that he’d contradicted himself, something Malfoy’s didn’t do. And though that wasn't what he wanted to be known as anymore, simply another Malfoy, in this instance, in most actually, it was the persistent thought that ran through his mind.

“Well, we were fine yesterday.” Harry offered, as if that would help. Draco thought that someone as privileged as Harry, someone as unburdened by the war as the Golden Gryffindor, would surely notice the idiocy in his words, seeing as there couldn’t possibly be anything else to worry about, but apparently not. “And now, _today_.”

“Perhaps it’s a full moon,” Draco said as a way to dismiss the current topic of conversation and hopefully eradicate the discourse completely, but it seemed his words brought a sort of strange tension to Potter. One that made him tense up and suck in a seemingly exaggerated breath. One that caused the Boy Wonder, the magnificent Potter, the one that could do no wrong, to stumble and falter. To reach up and squeeze the back of his neck and run a hand through his wild hair. 

“Yeah,” potter said, off-puttingly. As if nothing had happened. As if Draco hadn’t seen the way Harry James Potter, the defeator of the Dark Lord, the boy who defied death itself, wither at the prospect of a full moon. “Perhaps it is.”

Draco searched his brain for an answer as to why the taller male standing just a few inches from him had 

reacted in such a way, but perhaps he was too out of it to remember anything. 

The two stared at each other for a long lasting moment, as if they were stuck in time, before Potter cleared his throat and looked away. Draco smirked a bit, seeing the aversion as a small victory. “Anyway, you’re fine?”

“Perfectly.” draco said, a false pleasantness in his voice. 

“And you’re sure it's nothing to do with your-” Harry took a moment to look around, making sure no one was eavesdropping onto their conversation. “-Your _fear?_ ”

_Blithering idiot_ , Draco thought, though he wasn’t sure whom he was directing the insult at. Himself, for even mentioning such a thing to Harry, or Potter, who had mistakenly mentioned such information at the worst time. He rolled his eyes and began to turn away again, deciding that that day’s conversation with Harry Potter was over with. 

He was working himself up, and in the process, making himself late for class. He knew that, for whatever reason, Harry potter wasn’t as skilled at reading a room as Draco was, and because of that, most likely couldn't sense the tension that radiated off of Draco. And even if he could, he certainly couldn't blame him for trying the distraction because, over the course of several days, he’d sneakingly let on that he was always grateful for even the slightest distraction.

So he was right in walking away, right in ending the conversation before things got out of hand. He was always looking at the bigger picture. If he were to snap at Harry, which was definitely in option in the next few seconds, he’d appear to be the bad guy that had sworn at the recent victor of war. But if he turned away, and went to class, well, he’d simply look like a student on his way to start his school day. 

His options were laid out for him, he was already in the process of completing the correct choice, but still, for some reason, he couldn’t follow through. Whether it be because things simply were no longer allowed to go his way, or because he simply no longer knew how to follow directions, he didn’t know. All he knew was that Harry had apologized and he was turning back around again, facing the ever so slightly taller male. 

“It’s alright, Potter.” 

“Am I correct, then?” Draco gave him an unimpressed grunt. “Yeah, I suppose I’ll drop it.”

“Brilliant idea.”

“Can I go now? You do realize you’re making us both late?”

“Are you really fine?”

Draco widened his eyes, though it was more so in annoyed shock than genuine. “You’re absolutely horrific when it comes to answering simple questions.”

“As are you,” Harry said. He didn’t have a smirk across his face, but it still made Draco want to throw a quick fist. 

Draco joined Harry in a quick but intense staring contest in which he was sure he looked downright evil compared to Potter’s innocent stare. It simply wasn’t fair that he was so much better than Draco was, in almost every way possible. It had always been like that. From day one of Hogwarts, from day one in general. Perfect Potter with his perfect scar come to perfectly save the world. 

“I’m fine,” he said again, giving in to Harry’s gaze.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

Harry chuckled childishly, earning a glare from Draco. 

“I think you might have to work on your anger issues, I only needed a moment.” Harry said offhandedly, as he and Draco stepped back into the crowd, though they had yet to part ways.

“I’ll work on that when the world stops its chaos.”

“That’ll be a miracle.”

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to get accustomed to my anger.”

\---

Over time, Draco had come to realize that Harry Potter had a sort of “hero syndrome” as he enjoyed calling it. Something that told him, even without the face of immediate danger, he had to save someone. He had to be the bigger man and risk his life, his peace, or his health for someone else. Someone, anyone. It didn’t matter if they were undeserving or the sweetest person on earth. Harry Potter’s hero complex - which he’d later realized was the true name for such feelings, and had been quickly overjoyed that he hadn’t made up some random mentality scheme on the spot as a way to excuse Potter’s actions towards him - overtook the wizards body. Controlled it, even. 

And Draco was a little more than embarrassed to say that _he_ was in fact the wizard’s next victim. 

Harry and Draco didn't really get much of a chance to talk during the day, busy schedules and clingy friends got in the way; such as Ron Weasley, who refused to grow up and behave like the adult he was. The redhead was constantly muttering nonsense under his breath which earned him deadly glares from his girlfriend and terrifying threats from his sister. It didn’t cheer him up much, Hermione and Ginny having his back, because the thought of someone muttering about him, when he was only a few feet away, was intoxicatingly stressful. 

The afternoons gave Harry more of a chance to bother Draco, but still, it was rare. Though Draco could almost always be found at a tucked away table at the far end of the library, he gave little to no leeway to being disturbed during his studies. He worked diligently and tirelessly at perfecting his skills for his NEWTS, and rarely conversed with anyone besides Hermione Granger once the end of school hit. 

Dinnertime was when chances got a bit higher, seeing as Draco was most definitely starving by the time the Great Hall offered the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more food. He was rarely at lunch, and he ate breakfast so early, that by the time dinner rolled around, the blond had gone nearly 12 hours without eating. 

Draco was sure to stuff his face as respectfully as he could, all the while pouring himself into a lengthy textbook or sprint writing notes or essays on long pieces of parchment. There was a brief moment in which Draco had filled himself to the brim, and looked away from his task to take in his surroundings. That was when Harry cracked his way through Draco’s pent up walls with a witty joke that more often made Draco scowl than laugh. Although, sometimes, it was an observation about the weather, or a small fact he’d learned in his studies. 

Those were ones Draco enjoyed more, and Harry was delighted when he realized that Draco was just as nerdy and easy to impress with silly factoids as Hermione Granger was. 

But overall, evenings and the time after was the easiest time to start a conversation with the stressed out blond. The evenings were when the common room was filled with tired witches and wizards who could hardly do anything more than fill the room with a low buzz as they conversated with one another. It was much different than the main house common rooms everyone had been used to. With loud first years and giggling fourth years and everyone in between, you could hardly find a quiet moment until the very late hours of the night. 

Draco sat in his usual seat inside of the circular window sill, assignments in hand. He stared out into the night sky, feeling a bit strange as he searched for the Draco constellation. It had been a life-long struggle for him deciding if his love for the constellation was a form of conceitedness, but overall he’d decided that he was far too stressed to care anymore. So he rested his back against the cool curve of the sill and scouted the stars. 

He couldn’t bother to actually work on the tasks he’d been assigned by his professors, but he felt obligated to at least have them with him, as if their presence would encourage him to finish them up. Of course, that mindset didn’t actually work, but the sentiment was nice. 

Distracted by the starry night, he didn’t notice when Harry Potter leaned onto the outer lining of the sill. Nor when the boy stole his parchment off of his lap and began to read it. It was only when his name was called, followed by a bit of shoulder-grasping, that he realized Harry was gracing Draco with his presence. Again. 

“Yes, Potter?” He asked, in an attempt to sound a bit annoyed. That attempt failed, and he only ended up sounding a bit whiny. He cringed, now feeling more self-conscious about his voice than ever, and tried to focus his attention away from the sky and up at Harry. 

“Are you doing alright?” Harry asked, and Draco sighed exhaustedly, feeling as though he’d heard that phrase thousands upon thousands of times that day. Of course, he probably had, seeing as he’d only broken down the day before. And of course, most of the people he’d been asked by were Hermione and Harry, who had problems with accepting answers it seemed, and had asked quite a bit. 

He nodded his head, too tired to say anything and risk starting up a conversation.

“That’s nice,” Harry said, taking a seat in the sill when Draco curled his legs up into himself, knocking his papers off in the process. Draco stared at his hair, not being able to look him in the face. Harry looked at him though, which only made things more awkward. Draco didn’t say anything, and neither did Harry. 

“You’re sure you’re fine?” Harry asked again, and Draco rolled his eyes. Clinginess seemed to be a prominent trait in Harry Potter, as well as irritable persistence. He was _fine_ , and the things that had happened were just that: Things. Things of the _past_. He didn’t see the need to worry about anything, he was completely fine, if not a bit numb. And wasn’t being numb a good thing, especially in this case? Feeling numb meant no possibility of an intensely emotional panic attack any time soon, and wasn’t that what everyone was trying to make sure wasn’t happening?

“I’m completely fine, Potter. Thank you.” He answered shortly, wishing hard that he could just stare at the stars for the remainder of the night. For the remainder of the weekend, preferably, or perhaps even until the very last hour of the last day of October. He imagined how absolutely bliss life would be if he could watch the minutes of October slowly trickle away as he stared at the stars he’d always looked at. 

He was still staring at Harry’s hair, silently judging himself for liking the way it bounced when Harry nodded over and over again at his swift response. He didn’t understand _why_ he liked it, seeing as it was messy and completely idiotic. The boy never brushed it through, at least it didn’t seem like it. And it had no order whatsoever, it was just _messy_. He supposed there was no point in complaining, seeing as his hair was just as bad, especially after he’d gone a few days without properly combing it through. 

That wasn’t his fault, he reasoned. He was too numb to really care about it, and everyone else was merely too kind to mention it. At least, that was what it seemed like. Potter's, of course, was intentional. Everything Potter did was intentional.

Draco sighed and shook his head, placing it on his knees. Nothing was making sense. Everything he was thinking, he had no way of telling what was actually true. And though he was only thinking of hair, even _that_ , as unrelated and unimportant as the topic was, was enough to make his head twist in turn in painful directions. 

He groaned in quiet agony as his head hammered insistently with jumbled thoughts, and he wished he could be better at lying, if only to get Harry Potter off of his case. The boy was stubborn already, and he’d never stop pestering Draco with his hero complex if he didn’t make things believable. 

He wanted to insist further that he was quite alright, never been better, but he knew that both parties knew the truth. 

“It’s alright, if you’re not that is.” Harry offered, gently placing his hand on Draco’s boot. Even through the leather, Draco could tell that it was warm. It made sense that Potter _would_ have warm hands, though he didn’t know why. Nevertheless, he allowed a small smile to come across his face when the touch remained. “What happened was quite intense, and it’s fine if you need time to recover.”

Harry’s voice was rather calm, though _this_ time Draco felt it was a normal amount of calm. It wasn’t eerily sweet, rather, just fine for normal conversation. It didn’t remind Draco of condescending adults or mock-understanding professors. It simply felt like a conversational tone, in which Harry was asking how he’d been and Draco was filling him with answers. Potter’s voice was _normal_ , which for Draco, at that time, was all the more reason to dislike him. 

“I don’t need anymore time to recover, seeing as I’m-” Draco widened his eyes as he realized that he couldn’t bear to finish the sentence. He _was not_ fine, that much was obvious, but the sudden inability to lie his way through the unwanted conversation would only bring that fact more into the light. 

“I’m-” Draco had taken his face off of his knees, and now stared in fear at Harry. 

Harry had yet to take his hand off of Draco’s boot, and though the warmth was subdued from the leather, it was still a good source of comfort. He shook his head, swallowing as he tried to force the words out again. _Has Potter done something to me?_ He thought, though he realized just as soon that it was a silly idea. Draco was rather skilled at occlumency, and Harry was rather _shit_ at legimens. 

“I’m not,” he whispered out after a few moments of silence, in which his thoughts had mixed themselves with the quiet murmur of the Eighth year common room. “I’m _not_ , Potter.” 

Harry met his eyes, and the green in them was all Draco could bring himself to focus on. Not what he had just admitted to Harry, not the aftermaths of the most recent panic attack, not the panic attack itself. Just Harry’s eyes, and how they shone even in the darkness of the night. 

“That’s okay,” Draco heard Harry say, though it echoed through his mind for a bit before reaching him fully. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

That didn’t make much sense in Draco’s opinion, seeing as his father had said things completely opposite of that phrase; but with Harry’s hand on his foot and the curve of the circular window outlined against his back, he couldn’t bring himself to care much. Besides, Lucius was in Azkaban, and Potter was not. If that said didn’t say anything about morality, then Draco and his echoing brain didn’t know what did. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay, that’s fine too.” Draco thought Harry was fine with too many things, but he was grateful that he was alright with Draco’s answers now. He wasn’t eager to expand on why he’d fallen victim to his own anxieties, and Harry was respecting that. 

Harry Potter had too much of a hero complex, but Draco supposed in that moment, it was _fine_. 

\---

Draco shuttered as he sipped warm tea from the mug that Hermione had kindly placed on his bedside. The room was rather cold, but he was too out of it to walk down the stairs in order to sit in his usual window seat. Instead, he found himself longing for the warmth the circular sill brought in between paragraphs in his book. 

He checked the clock that had been hung above the entry door of the dorms, and sighed in relief when he saw that it was still quite a few more hours until the normal Halloween festivities came to an end, and the students would refill the eighth year common room. 

Draco sipped from the cup, then turned a page before another shiver erupted through his body. It seemed his body adopted an unusual rhythm for any given moment, and this panic-attack-aftercare that Hermione had forced upon him was no exception. Sip, turn, shiver, repeat. 

It was almost melodic, and he relished in the peaceful silence. 

A thought at the back of his mind reminded him that in the time he was unbothered by the usual buzz of students, he should spend catching up on assignments he’d neglected during the weekend, but everytime the thought made its way to the forefront of his mind, he made sure to push it as far back from him as possible. There was a time for cramming useless knowledge into his brain in order to forget hours before a mock exam, and there was a time for self-care. Hermione was keen on him doing the latter, and he didn’t much object to the idea. 

Besides, allowing himself to complete assignments would force his body into accommodating another schedule, and he had no interest in doing such things. The only thing that appeased him was the idea of making it to the next chapter in his book, and perhaps getting another tea once he was done. He hadn’t been hungry in over twelve hours, and he was hoping to keep that record. He knew that tomorrow morning, the first of November, Hermione would drag him from his bed and force him to eat. Then force him to take his classes, finish his work, and go back to normal. 

And he simply was not ready for such things. 

A knock on the dorm room door startled him from his thoughts, and he quickly put his cup of tea down when the knocking persisted. He pulled the smaller of his two blankets off of his bed and around his shoulders and made his way over to the door, opening it with an unsteady hand. Draco was taken slightly aback when the door revealed none other than Harry Potter, who happened to be carrying two large platters of food that seemed to have come from the Halloween feast. 

For a moment, Draco shuttered at the idea that he’d gotten the times wrong, and that it was only a matter of seconds before waves of students came crashing into the common room, but Harry eased his thoughts quickly with the spluttered mess that left his mouth as he rushed into the dorm. 

“It took me ages to sneak out with all of this, remind me to thank Nev later on, yeah?”

Draco didn’t really understand much of what Harry had said, but he took a platter from him anyway, nodding as he did so. 

“I thought you might be hungry,” Harry said, and it really didn’t seem like he was talking to Draco, even though they were the only people in the room. Draco placed the platter he’d taken onto one of the Hufflepuff’s bedside tables, and watched as Harry did the same. Draco wondered just how difficult it had been to sneak off away from the feast, because Potter was bent over and trying his hardest to take in the deepest of breaths. 

“I’m not, but thank you for your efforts,” Draco tried, but he soon realized the conversation was being put on hold while Harry struggled to catch his breath. 

“How are you _not_ hungry?” Harry asked eventually, sitting on one of the beds. Draco tentatively sat down on one closer to Harry rather than his own. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”

_Lovely observation, Potter._

“I suppose I ignored it long enough for it to go away.”

“Your hunger-” Harry paused, and a small smirk spread across his face as he tried to hide his laughter. “Your _hunger_ has gone away?”

“Yes, Potter.” 

“That’s bullshit, that is.” Draco rolled his eyes, but didn’t explain any further. If he had to go through the process of explaining that he didn’t want to eat, because that would awaken everything else in his body, he’d probably die from embarrassment. 

“I suppose.”

“Eat then.”

“I don’t want to.”

“ _Bloody idiot_ ,” Harry whispered under his breath, and Draco found a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “Well you are! You’re stubborn.” Harry grabbed a treacle tart off of the platter he’d sat next to him, and bit into it, before leaning back onto the bed and groaning at its taste.

“That good, eh?” Draco asked, running a hand through his hair. 

“Amazing!” Harry bit into the tart again, almost savagely, and Draco thought he was exaggerating just a bit, if only to get him to eat himself. “This, this right here, is the only good thing about Halloween.”

“I suppose.” Draco said, eyeing his own platter. He _could_ eat, afterall, it was over twenty-four hours since his last meal. And he could always stay up and finish any forgotten assignments, seeing as he’d slept so much in the past day, he wasn’t really tired anymore. 

“You say that a lot,” Harry said, stuffing the rest of his treacle tart in his mouth. Draco cringed and nodded, but soon realizing that Harry couldn’t see him, answered cheekily with another “I suppose.”

“ _Merlin_.”

“Just me, I’m afraid.” 

“Bloody hell, Malfoy!”

Draco laughed quietly and tightened his hold around the blanket, allowing the silence to overcome them again. He turned slowly and eyed his bed, where his tea was growing cold and his book lay askew across his pillow. 

“Is it weird, staying up here again?” Harry asked after a little while. The plate he’d gotten was filled with other food, not just treacle tart, but it seemed the plate refilled itself, and so that was all Harry was eating. Draco wondered if his platter did the same, but he supposed he’d find out later. 

“Yes,” Draco answered softly, and his mind wandered to his regular window seat. Despite it being closer to the outside than any other seat in the common room, Draco felt as though it was the warmest. A spell must have been cast over the windows down there, stopping any cool air from coming in.

It had been strange not sleeping there, but he had enjoyed the change in scenery. 

“Do you miss it?” 

“It’s been a day, Potter.” 

“Right.”

Another silence took over the room, and the smell of the Halloween feast was drifting into Draco’s nose, making his mouth water. He _could_ eat, it wouldn’t harm anything. What did it matter if his body got back into the swing of things, he’d have to do it the next day anyway. 

“Please eat, Draco. Hermione will be rather upset if she finds out you didn’t.”

Draco was silent for a moment, but eventually he nodded and reached over, taking a piece of pumpkin pasties. He bit into it, and smiled. He supposed it was alright. 

A few minutes passed, and he finished the pastie, but didn’t take anything else. Harry continued to stuff his face with treacle tart, occasionally pausing to sip his goblet of what was probably pumpkin juice. 

After a few moments, Draco’s stomach began to growl and rather than let it be, he decided to try the Shepard’s pie. As usual, it was rather delicious, and he finished it up quickly. Every so often, his stomach would growl, and he’d give in, taking bites of roast beef or Yorkshire pudding until he was full. Harry didn’t seem to eat anything other than his tarts, but Draco didn’t comment on his eating habits. 

It was only a few minutes after Draco deemed himself full enough that Harry groaned in pain from all of the tarts. “Merlin’s beard, I’m stuffed.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten so many treacle tarts then,” Draco offered, lightly placing his hand over his stomach. 

“I suppose,” Harry said cheekily, then let out a loud burst of laughter so contagious, Draco joined in quietly. 

Eventually, Harry quieted down and resumed his groaning as his chest heaved up and down. Draco quietly stood and made his way back over to his bed, opening his book again and tediously turning the pages. He assumed Harry had fallen asleep, and with another hour and a half of the feast left, he had no interest in waking him. If the boy wanted to sleep, he could. He didn’t much mind Potter’s presence anymore, seeing as the boy had continuously helped him throughout the month, or at least tried his hardest. So, yes. He’d let the boy sleep. 

Harry wasn’t bothering him, and so Draco wouldn’t bother Harry. 

“Why do you dislike October?” Harry asked suddenly, startling Draco. Draco shut his book sharply and inhaled, trying to digest what Harry had asked. He rolled the phrase over in his mind until it made sense, and then allowed himself to process it a bit more to figure out how he’d word his answer. 

“I-” He began, but he sighed and grumbled quietly at his unpreparedness. He took yet another breath and decided to try again, but was interrupted by Harry.

“I’ve been thinking about it and,” He started. “And well, I reckon it’s for the same reasons I don’t like it. Or, similar, that is.” 

A bit upset that he’d been interjected, Draco somewhat snottily asked: “And what is that, Potter.”

“Because Voldemort killed my parents, and then I killed him. Or kinda, that is.” Draco flinched at the name, and it felt as though his arm began to buzz. Draco spluttered for a second, rather impressed with Harry, as well as a bit startled at the ease in which he said the Dark Lord’s name. 

“I-” He tried again, but Harry seemed to have a habit of interrupting. 

“And I’m sure your parents were rather cross when that happened, because Voldemort was just getting big, wasn’t he?” Draco nodded tentatively, but realized Harry couldn’t see him and tried to let out a verbal answer. All he could do was sputter out a choppy “I suppose,” - which wasn’t even meant to be funny, especially with the topic of conversation - and wait as his cheeks heated up uncomfortably. 

“I only realized why I shouldn’t like Halloween a few years ago, in fifth year. Sirius told me, I hadn’t any idea beforehand.”

Draco found himself feeling a bit sorry for Harry, because as much as the month of October had brought him fear and pain, it had given Harry life without a family, and that seemed just a bit worse. 

“All that time, celebrating like nothing was wrong.” Draco could tell that Harry was getting emotional, the cracks in his voice and small pauses were a dead giveaway. “My aunt and uncle never told me, but that’s expected, I guess. Dumbledore, he didn’t either.”

At a complete loss for words, Draco let out a quiet “I’m sorry,” as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“‘S alright, I guess.” Harry sat up and shrugged, allowing a few moments to pass before plastering on a small smirk. “How about you then? You must’ve had it a bit worse? With Lucius and Bellatrix and everything else.”

Draco shrugged and reluctantly placed a smile onto his own face, not wanting to make the situation any more awkward than it already was. 

A few more minutes passed and Draco eyed the clock again, a bit disappointed to see that time had barely changed. He ought to make some excuse and leave the room, or better yet, make Harry leave himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the company, he supposed it was alright, it was simply because things were becoming rather awkward, and he didn’t trust himself to even things out. 

Just as he got the nerves to say something else, Harry took in a breath and said quite suddenly, “Have you ever been trick-or-treating, Malfoy?”

Draco shook his head. His father had never been the type of person to take Draco trick-or-treating, even if the other October problems hadn’t been in place. No, his mother always would give him a few treats, perhaps a handful of candy, and allow him to read a few scary stories before bed. It had never bothered him when he was younger, because most of his friends were the same way. Pansy never went trick-or-treating because her parents weren’t fond of taking treats from probable half-bloods, or even worse, Muggleborns. As was the same for Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle. Blaise Zabini always had lavish parties, but his parents usually handed him over to a babysitter, so he didn’t get to be in them until he was a bit older. 

And then Hogwarts had come, and that was the end of it all. 

Draco remembered how one of the half-bloods had begun to cry in their first year when Halloween came around, and she didn’t get to go trick-or-treating. Her feelings cheered tremendously when the feast came, and though it had been spoiled rather soon, it had definitely been quite a memorable one. He remembered wanting to write his father a letter on if he could be taken out of school the next Halloween, to go trick-or-treating with Pansy and Crabbe and Goyle and Blaise, but he thought better of it and decided not to. Lucius was always rather terrifying when it came to anything October related, and he had no interest in getting a howler sent to him. 

And now, well now he was an adult, a war fastened to his belt, and a lifetime of guilt right along next to it. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, figured as much. I haven’t either. The Dursley’s never let me, and Dudley always ate all of his candy. But somehow, I’d get ahold of a few pieces, I reckon it was a bit of childhood magic.” Draco nodded a bit absent-mindedly, still thinking about his tiny version of Halloween. 

“Seems Halloween was shit for the both of us,” Draco said softly.

“Seems so, but-” And suddenly Harry was up, opening his robe and reaching his hand in deep, as though he had tons of things hiding inside of his inner pockets. “I’ve got some candy here, Muggle kind, I doubt you’ve ever had any. They’re great, honest. Try some?”

Draco looked into Harry’s hands, which had been all but thrust into his face, and smiled a strange smile as he picked a small piece from the boys’ collection. 

“Thanks, Potter.”

“Honestly mate, Harry’ll do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I really hope you enjoyed it, seeing as I stupidly used the month, going on two months, break for it. I wish I could say that in the nearly five or six weeks I was gone, I took the time to write out many chapters, and that they only needed some editing, but unfortunately I cannot. Instead, I spent every single moment editing and reediting in fear that this wouldn't be good enough to publish. By the time I felt confident enough to move on with a scene and go to another one, something came up and my anxiety would kick in like nothing before. But, finals are over, I'm getting a decent break, and I'll be returning to my classes in-person in January. All of the things playing into my anxiety are slowly trickling away, and I couldn't be happier. Please let me know what you think, and I do hope you enjoyed everything. 
> 
> P.S. Omg I almost forgot! As a Christmas present (and again, if you don't celebrate, a normal gift instead) I bestow upon you, the very small and very short Draco Malfoy playlist designed to help me work on this fic. I do hope you like that too, and if you have any ideas on songs I can ask, you can comment or message me on either Tumblr (@drarryismyshit07) or Discord (DrarryIsMyShit#6083)
> 
> Have a wonderful day! Thank you for keeping with me through all of this!
> 
> ((the playlist! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1kDrETDTxdqQ7x0b2cuW9x ))


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's November 3rd, and with no way of properly remembering the man that had died for him, Harry comes up with a different solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long overdue, but I hope this made your wait worth it!

By Wednesday, Draco was starting to think that maybe - just maybe - his sleep schedule was finally getting back on track. No longer did he wake up drowning in puddles of sweat and shivering as if he’d apparated to the North Pole in nothing but his underpants. No longer was he shaken awake by frantic whispers from Hermione Granger telling him that he was calling out names she’d never heard of, and if he didn’t stop he’d soon wake the entirety of the common room. 

Instead, his restless nights were replaced with ones that consisted of falling asleep to the melodic twinkling of the night sky and the smell of crumpled parchment mixed with oily black ink. His eating habits were becoming more consistent as well, leaving the blond to realize that he’d been bottling up a subconscious fear for the first two months of his last year of education; and he gladly and willingly let the weight of it all slide off his back like water on river rocks. 

_Things were changing_ , he realized on Wednesday morning. He looked at his reflection in the mirror inside the boys bathroom. _Hopefully changing for the better_ , and as he repeated the sentence in his mind, allowing the words to roll over and over in his brain until they were perfectly smooth and he could imagine himself saying it in the most confident of ways, he began to believe it to be the truth. 

Things were changing, for the better. For Draco Malfoy, at least.

* * *

Harry Potter , however, was having the utmost difficulty even getting out of bed. For even though Draco’s bout of sadness had slowly found its way to an end, Harry’s was only beginning. As depressing as the anniversary of his parents’ death was, Potter had never known them. The feeling of loss hurt, but in a way that you longed to meet a respected late celebrity. 

November third was a day of pain rather than longing, or better yet, a sort of longing that ached so deep into your soul that it began to damage your physical self as well. 

For the day that allowed Draco Malfoy to finally feel like a new man - a changed man even - only burned Harry Potter in the most agonizing of ways. While Draco smiled at his reflection, feeling for the first time in ages like someone worthy of fighting for, Harry Potter lay glowering in his four-poster bed, wishing more than ever that he could see the face of Sirius Black just once more. 

Wishing that he could only replace the last image of his godfather - one filled with fear and pain and _longing_ \- with one of peacefulness and of bliss. 

Sirius Black was the only parent he’d ever gotten to know, and on the day honoring his birth, Harry could only think of how he had only screamed Sirius’ name, rather than try to save him. 

  
  


Draco had chosen a simple breakfast for the day, beans on toast, as well as the ever-classic pumpkin juice it seemed no witch or wizard could possibly go without. Rather than waking early and rushing to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, he’d waited for his fellow peers to wake, deciding to join them instead. 

He found that he didn’t miss the solitude at all, and that he much preferred the presence of others. Draco and Hermione took turns quizzing one another on notes from Transfiguration, a class it seemed every Eighth Year struggled with. Neville joined in, but mostly talked about his invitation to intern under the Herbology professor after second term, which Draco quickly deemed more interesting than studying. 

“Sprout reckons taking me on for an apprenticeship would put me first in line to be the new Herbology professor the moment she retires!” Neville explained, taking a triumphant bite into his bagel and leaning backwards so far Draco thought he might fall off the bench. “How brilliant would that be?”

Hermione giggled at Neville’s antics, and Draco joined in easily; he was happy to be happy. 

When their stomachs were nearly full and their topics of conversation were wearing thin, Harry Potter came stomping through the doors of the Great Hall, turning every head. Ron Weasley stumbled behind him, frantically whispering something to the raven-haired fury. Harry appeared to be a man on a mission, and a mind to insight revenge on whoever had hurt him. 

Draco was thrown aback as Harry slammed himself down onto the Eighth Year table, throwing a few things onto the plate that appeared in front of him, and pulling a goblet of pumpkin juice so forcefully that all of it nearly sloshed out. Hermione and Neville and Draco, along with every witch and wizard in the hall, goggled at the boy who seemed to be the embodiment of rage itself. 

“H-harry?” Hermione was the first to speak, and she tentatively reached a hand out to comfort him, only to be glared at by the angry raven-haired wizard. She withdrew her arm and looked at him with concern, then turning her gaze to Ron, who shook his head with confusion and shrugged his shoulders. Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded and slowly, she tried to restart the conversation with Neville and Draco. 

Neville, who usually wasn’t one for conflict in general, had gratefully reentered the conversation, but Draco didn’t find it that easy. As subtle as possible, he kept his eyes on Potter’s movements, wondering what could have possibly compelled the usually upbeat boy to be so sullen and angry. Hermione and Neville began to talk loudly again, seeming to forget about Potter’s sour mood for the moment; and in an attempt to seem present, Draco nodded his head along with their words, occasionally muttering a “Brilliant!” here and three to sell the deception.

Harry was steadily scarfing down his food, only stopping for a drink every so often. Ron ate as well, but he didn’t bother joining any conversations, seeming to have decided it was better to keep an eye on his best friend instead. 

Draco thought back to Sunday of that week, when he and Harry had left the dorms to get the seats near the fire before the students came back from the Halloween feast. They’d shared what seemed like two tons of Muggle Halloween candy, gorging on the sweets until they were so utterly stuffed it felt as though their stomachs would burst open at any moment. 

When they’d awoken, Harry acted as though the sadness of the last day of October had never existed, instead focusing on the excitement of the new month. 

But now Potter was a new person, he looked as if he’d been visited by a dementor. All of the pleasantness had been sucked from his body, leaving only an angry carcass in its place. 

“Cheer up, Potter,” he managed to mutter after a while, and he hoped that the far from sweet tone in his voice was enough to suck Potter out of his depressive hole, though deep down he knew that it was not. 

Harry glared at him, lifting his head just a bit, revealing the redness in his eyes that Draco must have missed when he was giving Harry a one-over. 

_Potter, crying? Truly unheard of,_ Draco thought, and his mind began racing a thousand miles per minute. What could possibly be making Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World himself, cry? 

Draco looked away, taking a moment to think. The act itself was such a simple thing, but it was so complex, so controversial, so confusing. The action could cause detrimental changes, or simply bring a group of people closer. To see Harry Potter crying in front of so many people - so many that looked to him for guidance and structure, whether they be younger or older than him - was something Draco couldn’t determine. Was it powerful? A sign of trust? Was it a form of weakness, like Draco’s father had lectured him about so many times in his adolescence? 

Before he had the chance to fully understand his thoughts, Harry stood rather abruptly and stalked off from the table, leaving behind a very confused group of Eighth Years. Draco looked to Hermione for an answer, but only got a shrug in return. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Ron juggling on whether to follow his best mate or stay with the rest of the group. Draco silently hoped that he’d choose the former, but he knew it’d be best if the red-haired wizard stayed so they could all converse about the elephant in the room. 

“What do you reckon is wrong with Harry?” Neville asked. There was a silence amongst the table and Draco focused on the gradual sound of the Great Hall returning to its usual noise level, the buzz of conversation sounding more quiet than silence itself. 

“Ron, he’s talking to you,” Hermione pointed out after a second, clearing her throat. 

“Oh,” said Ron, and his ears began to turn red. “Oh, right. I dunno to be honest, kept muttering about something in his sleep though. Something about Sirius.”

“Sirius?” Hermione asked, and her face dropped. Draco could tell something was rather, well… serious. “What has Sirius got to do with anything?”

“Dunno, but he was fine last night and then this morning, everything changed.” 

“Do you think it’s got something to do with an anniversary? Didn’t you meet Black around this time anyway?” Neville offered. 

“No, we met him towards the end of the year,” Ron’s voice was distant and thinking, and everyone shared a disgruntled look as they racked their brains for more answers as to why Harry Potter was acting like a petulant child.

“And he died around that time two years later,” Draco added, rather unhelpfully, seeing as everyone knew when Sirius Black died by then. What was once a topic people insisted on being a ministry secret was now a known fact, as was everything surrounding Harry Potter’s life. And why would it not, when the boy was the most important wizard in the entire magical world?

Draco slumped in his seat, and a persistent thought told him that Harry was cross with _him_. That somehow Harry’s negative mood was his doing, and that a wizard on his way to becoming a friend was quickly becoming yet another enemy. Potter being his enemy wasn’t anything new, but it certainly wouldn’t help in his current situation. If Harry Potter, the most selfless man of his time, couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive a Malfoy, the rest of the Wizarding World wouldn’t even consider it. 

He shook his head, becoming cross with himself that even in such a troubling situation he could only be bothered with himself. His internalized selfishness was slowly becoming one of his most hated things about himself. 

He tried to focus on the people and conversations surrounding him, but intruding thoughts of hateful family members and reckless blame took over and his mind continued to zone out. It had seemed like things would turn up, now that the worst of the year was behind him. Now that his father was safely locked away in Azkaban, and his Aunt Bellatrix was dead, and his godfather had died a heroic death he didn’t deserve. Now that his mother was out of the picture, with some bedridding illness that he wanted to believe was a publicity stunt for the rest of the world to pity her, though in the back of his mind he knew his mother would never do such a thing. But he knew that such hope was incorrect, because nothing could truly ever be better for Draco. He had dug his grave before he could even realize what he was doing wrong, his desperate hope to impress a man that could hardly protect his family from harm getting in the way of seeing things clearly.

Hating to think of his father, realizing that the man haunted him no matter if he were in Draco’s memories or in the flesh, he allowed himself a brief moment to think of his mother. Could it be all for show? No one would imprison a bedridden witch, would they? He knew his mother wouldn’t stop so low, but entertaining that thought was easier than accepting the fact that his dear mum was alone at the manor with no one but the house elves to keep her company. She could be moments from death, and Draco was simply too stubborn to go and see her, or perhaps he was simply too embarrassed. 

Distancing himself would be beneficial, for both parties. At least that was what he tried to convince himself, but to no avail. He was nothing but a teenage boy that missed his mother dearly, and the only thing stopping him from seeing her was his own selfishness. 

Despite the effort he’d put in to regulate his thoughts, his self-hatred was growing the more he allowed himself to be alone in his mind.

His mind raced in and out between accusations towards his mother and thoughts of Harry Potter; and his dissociation was becoming deeper and deeper, so much so that the surrounding voices that had once sounded distant completely withered away. His memories swirled about in his brain, until he landed on a specific one from his childhood that he supposed _did_ remind him of the current chaos happening. 

His mother lay shivering in her bed, and Draco was by her bedside. A large storybook lay in his lap, and it looked even bigger than it was on his tiny body. He remembered grinning up at her every so often as he struggled his way through the fairytales, and he recalled the pained look on her face being replaced with a faint smile every time he did so.

Over the course of those couple weeks, both his literacy and knowledge of his family history grew tremendously. Of course, looking back he was sure his mother could have been easily healed by a potion of sorts; but he decided not to think too much about the reasons, and only focus on the memory. By the time his mother was fully recovered, he could recite many of the family facts. Namely full names, miniscule details about favorite childhood activities, and-

_Birthdays_.

“Sirius Black’s birthday was November 3rd, 1959,” He stated, his voice a bit monotone as if he was reciting a rather boring piece of memorized text, which he supposed he was in a way. He looked up, focusing a bit back into the room, slightly surprised to see the eyes of most people around him were now staring at his own. 

“Is that helpful?” He asked slowly, succumbing to the slight embarrassment being gawked at had on someone.

“Quite.”

Hermione was the first to speak.

And somewhat unhelpfully, Ron Weasley was the second. “Isn’t today the third of November?”

It was.

Neville was quick to take out his planner, and checking the date, he confirmed to the small group that it was in fact, most definitely, November 3rd. The confirmation gave birth to a collective realization and understanding of Harry’s sudden mood change, and for Draco, a blatantly obvious sign of proof that Harry’s anger was in no way his fault.

Of course, he didn’t listen to the sign. It was merely his nature.

Instead, the confirmation only made him feel more obliged to make things better for Potter. He didn’t see why. They were meant to be enemies, and if not enemies then certainly far from friends; let alone people who made one another happier. But that didn’t matter much, because in a frenzy of impulsive actions, Draco stood from his spot at the Eighth Year dining table and walked away with barely a goodbye. 

* * *

Harry Potter was a difficult man to find when he was truly trying, which made perfect sense in Draco’s mind, seeing as their entire lives there was a power-hungry excuse of a man searching high and low for Harry and a chance for revenge.

It was only when Draco was on the verge of giving up the search, and instead ready to sit down and ponder for a bit, did he find Harry in a darker part of a rarely occupied hall. It made him wonder how similar the two actually were.

He half expected Potter to push him away. Hex him or curse him out until he was far too upset to even attempt to comfort the wizard, but that was far from the truth. Instead, Harry had tapped the spot next to him and moved over a bit, as if welcoming Draco into the makeshift fort of shadows.

Draco sat tentatively next to Potter, and for many moments no sounds were made besides the distant chatter from the goings-on of the castle. Draco had always found it easy to start a conversation, but it seemed that as of late, talking didn’t come quite as easily as it once had. 

He repeatedly opened and shut his mouth, hoping desperately that the words would flow out of him, but no such thing happened. Harry sat next to him, quieter than it seemed he ever had been, and Draco found he was at a complete loss on what to do. 

Eventually, when the silence became too great and the sounds of Potter trying to hold in his tears became too much to bear, Draco inhaled sharply and let the words roll off of his tongue.

“I know it’s Sirius Black’s birthday,” he stated, and he allowed himself a quick glance in Harry’s direction. He didn’t know how to react when Potter sucked in a deep breath, so he continued, hoping that whatever came from his mouth next wouldn’t force Harry Potter away. Not that he would care, but maybe he would. Losing potential friends seemed worse than losing people you were already close with. Draco compared it to grabbing for something that was barely out of reach; longing for something you just couldn’t get. Perhaps it was precisely what he deserved, but he tried not to think about that. 

“He’d be turning 39 if he wasn’t gone.”

The realization hit Draco like a bludger crashing into him. Sirius was so _young_. The man had an eternity to live a long and happy life, but he'd succumbed to pain and suffering. It was hardly his fault, Sirius did nothing wrong besides being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Draco had never turned his head so quickly. Potter’s fault? It seemed impossible.

“I was…” Harry trailed, and Draco noticed the raspiness in his voice. He could tell Potter’s nose was stuffed already, because his voice was froggy too. “I was so _careless_. I was only worried for myself.”

It was dark besides the light coming from the large windows across the hall. Draco shook his head slightly, confused as to how the Saviour of the Wizarding World could ever be confused as selfish. Careless, sure. After all, he was only a boy. But selfish? It seemed unlikely, impossible even. It made Harry Potter seem human. And although he clearly _was_ a human, was it possible for Harry to be anything less than perfect?

“I destroy _everything_.”

* * *

Harry rested his head onto the wall, seeming utterly defeated. There were tears streaming down his cheeks -although Draco couldn’t see them- and his mind was chaotic filled with image upon image of Sirius falling into the veil, and the sound of the blood-curdling shriek Harry had let out when it had happened. 

Why was every horrible memory he had riddled with screams? Screams so torturous and so inhumane they filled every inch of his brain with thoughts of ending it all, just for them to stop. Why was he like this? Was it selfish of him to wish they’d go away, or did it make him seem sane? Was this the price of saving the only place he’d ever felt at home? Screams from the only parental figures he’d ever known? And if he were to say out loud that he wished these screams didn’t rattle around in his head, or rather, if he could simply pluck them from existence, would he be cruel? What is one boy’s family to thousands of other families? Who was he to think he deserved anything other than those screams?

Wasn’t he meant to be the hero? Heroes aren’t meant to be selfish. They aren’t supposed to want what others have. This was what young Harry wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted people to see him, to know him, to be kind to him and love him. He got his wish didn’t he? A small price to pay for a childhood dream, he supposed.

Harry sighed loudly, hoping the audible noise was enough to make the thoughts and screams dissipate if only for a few moments. 

“I’m _tired_ , Draco.”

He heard Draco Malfoy shift and he quietly questioned this arrangement. What had happened in the short months since the war that caused this situation to be a possibility? He worried that perhaps it had been his hero complex trying to befriend Draco, if only to give the wizard the benefit of the doubt. Harry knew that outside of Hogwarts, Draco would have tremendous difficulty doing anything without being the target for a lot of hatred. Was he still trying to be the bigger man, subconsciously? Or had it truly been an act of friendship? He hoped the latter was true, because the idea of still trying to help everyone but himself, even after his literal death, was beginning to disgust him. 

“I’m so tired of everything, and I wish-”

Stopping himself, he debated finishing the sentence. Would opening up to Draco more than a surface level friendship backfire on him, or was Draco also emotionally damaged enough to understand his pain? Draco was one of the only people that saw Harry as human. Not as some god, or a saviour, but a human. Able to make mistakes and feel emotions. 

He sighed and wished he could shut off his brain. He was done thinking faster than the speed of light, trying to anticipate the enemies next move in order to live another day. He shouldn’t have to do this anymore. The enemy was dead.

Why did he have to be his own enemy, why couldn’t he give himself a break? Why couldn’t his brain stop thinking, and questioning, and hurting?

“You wish you would’ve stayed dead that day?”

It was Harry's turn to shift and he stared hard into the place he knew Draco was. 

“Y-yes.” _How did you know?_

“You aren’t the only one who wishes they were dead, Potter. Death is far better than life.”

“No it’s not.” Harry said. The idea that death was _good_ confused him. It was not, death was painful. His mother, father, godfather, friends. All dead, all painful to think about. 

“Okay.” And it was clear that Draco wanted to say something else, something different; but something stopped him. Was it Harry? Or something else? He supposed it didn’t matter, even though it did. 

“Do you want to be dead, Draco?” Harry asked, and he knew the answer before Draco even opened his mouth.

“More than anything, Potter.” Draco sounded subdued and his breath was labored when he exhaled. 

There was a long silence, and Harry felt an equal sense of comfort and tenseness in their tiny spot. Harry looked over and into Draco’s general direction, and debated on asking a question for what seemed like years. 

Finally, when things were just a little too tense and uncomfortable, he allowed the words to shoot off of his mouth before he could rethink his decision. 

“I want to visit my parents’ graves.” It was sudden, and his voice was sharp, and he meant every word. He didn’t _want_ to visit them, he _needed_ to. He’d been taunted with his parents' images since he was eleven, hell, maybe even since he was thrust into the parental guardianship of his aunt and uncle. 

“Have you never seen them before?” And there was confusion in Draco’s voice, as if he _should_ have seen the graves before. As if he _should_ have been taught to handle death more appropriately than he was doing so. As if there had ever been anyone around to teach him to grieve properly, as if he had never been alone in the world. 

“Never.”

“But it’s Sirius’ birthday.” It felt like Draco was going off topic, and Harry wanted to scream because he thought Malfoy wasn’t taking him seriously, but he was too tired to even consider the possibility.

“And Sirius is graveless.”

“Then I suppose your parents will do.” It sounded like Draco thought he had a say in the matter, but both parties knew that was far from the truth. He supposed it was just the way that he sounded, and Draco couldn’t be held accountable for something he couldn’t control. Well… Harry supposed that was a topic for another time.

Draco stood abruptly, and it was all Harry could do to keep up with the wizard’s long strides. They walked and walked, and Harry wondered how they would manage to sneak out, before they found the Room of Requirement and stepped inside. 

They didn’t speak a word as they were transferred somehow (Harry chalked it up to magic) all the way to Godric’s Hollow. Harry thought there would be a sense of familiarity when he finally came to the very first place he’d ever called home, but there was nothing, and he realized that hurt more than any nostalgic feeling he’d thought would happen.

The ground was covered in snow, and Harry found himself slowly growing a hatred for the freezing air. Of course, the snow had nothing to do with the death of his parents, but there was no one left to blame, so he figured he could go on blaming other things until he felt it was good enough. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but no one could really tell him anything anymore. He had saved the entirety of the Wizarding World, and as a gift, they’d given him the feeling of loneliness. 

“They died four days before my godfather’s birthday,” he said to Draco. He had never talked to anyone about his parents, not really. The adults in his life had never wanted to, and the people he’d befriended already were so amazed by his scar and the defeat of someone he had never even known about that they didn’t realize his position came with a price. 

But Draco was here, and he was going to listen to Harry. 

“Do you think they had planned something for his birthday? Do you think he drank in their memory or was he already incarcerated?” They kept walking, getting closer and closer to the graves. Harry was beginning to feel sick.

“I don’t know Harry.”

“Was Remus already gone, underground? Did he celebrate completely alone, no one to remember anything with?”

“I don’t know Harry.” 

“He gave Hagrid his motorcycle to drop me at the Dursleys. Do you think he had it back yet?”

“I don’t know Harry.” Draco didn’t sound annoyed or exasperated. He was replying to questions Harry had had for years with no one to ask. 

They hadn’t put on the proper attire for the cold weather, but they had on black robes, and Harry thought it was fine just as it was.

“Apparently, I watched her die. “ Harry paused, letting that fact sink in. He had watched his mum die, and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. Granted, he was a baby, but the idea that his mother was dying right in front of him hurt more than he had anticipated.

“If I had been just a bit older, maybe-” he stopped, not even realizing he had begun to cry until he joked on his own sob. “It was me Voldemort was after, not my mum, not my dad. If they had just-”

Draco and Harry were nearly there, and Harry wanted to turn back and never return. He felt an immeasurable amount of guilt. He knew there was no need for it, because deep down he knew it wasn’t his fault; but he didn’t think he could live without placing the blame of his parents death on someone. 

When he was younger, it had been the imaginary driver that crashed into his parents during their non-existent car crash. Then it had been Sirius, then Peter Pettigrew. Then of course Voldemort. But they were all gone, and who else could he blame but himself.

“They could have had another child, they could have _lived_.” They were mere feet away from the graves, and Harry was boiling. “Why was I so important?” He whispered, and it floated away into the cool wind. He whirled around to Draco, making the boy flinch, and he gave him the deadliest look he could muster. Draco took a step back, reaching for his back pocket, but Harry couldn’t care less. He spun back around and yelled at the top of his lungs:

“WHY WAS I SO IMPORTANT?”

And he collapsed onto the snow, knees digging into the frigid ground, and arms clinging to his mother’s gravestone. Over and over again, he muttered: “you could have lived, you could have lived, you could have lived.” He screamed and yelled and shouted it at the top of his lungs and Draco stayed back and watched him. His face burned from the cold and his eyes stung from the tears he wept but he kept going until his voice could no longer be heard. 

The last thing Harry said that was audible, before his voice shut off like a child’s wound-up toy was “why did you leave me?”

Harry Potter didn’t cry, but November 3rd, 1998, he sobbed for the parents he had never gotten to know, the godfather who had barely lived before he passed, the uncle that never got to see his son’s first steps, and all of the children that had died because Harry Potter was the chosen one.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's safe to say that regular updating isn't gonna work for this fic, but please know that I love TBAW with my entire being and wouldn't end it for the world. I'm sorry for being so inactive, but placing all your emotions into fictional characters really does do wonders lol

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @drarryismyshit07


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